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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25928263">duende</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleakmidwinter/pseuds/bleakmidwinter'>bleakmidwinter</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>It all started in San Martin de los Andes [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hannibal (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Sex, Angst, Argentina, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Domestic, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Time, Hotel Rooms, M/M, Murder, On the Run, Operas, Oral Sex, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Season/Series 03, Rimming, Switching, excessive metaphors</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 04:42:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>63,086</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25928263</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleakmidwinter/pseuds/bleakmidwinter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In San Martin de los Andes, Argentina, Hannibal and Will strive to start a new life. With unfinished business, and new plans for their macabre future, they set out to do it together. Love and intimacy seeps its way into their schemes presenting them with a beautiful future.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>It all started in San Martin de los Andes [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1943833</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>154</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>435</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>While the definition of "duende" is elf in the English dictionary, it more often represents an emotion or response to a selected piece of art. It is known as one of the hardest Spanish words to translate into the English language, as it is difficult to translate a specific guttural feeling beauty draws out of you. Anyway I'm a pretentious bastard, enjoy the story.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Deep within the woodlands of San Martin de los Andes, a city in the province of Neuquén, Argentina, Will can feel ghostly pain dither within his recently dislocated shoulder. </p><p>He rubs at it senselessly, the real ache that had followed Hannibal resetting it has long since departed. Until now, there had been no phantom sensation in this spot. Will is almost aggrieved that he’d feel aches and pains now, during the first evening he is to set foot in their new home. </p><p>He is resting against the single wooden bench in their front yard, lined up parallel against a long stretch of fence which barriers the narrow creek leading from the deepest part of the thicket behind their house, and all the way down to the extensive lake. Perfect for fly fishing; this town is known for such a sport. </p><p>The nature fascinates him. He’s lived in the middle of the woods, felt his feet sink into hard-packed snow, and been waist deep in murky pond water, but the air here is humid. Sharp noises tinker away in his ears, the bugs and birds more shrill than his country of origin. </p><p>Standing, he takes in their house. He hasn’t allowed himself to step one foot closer, even to the alabaster gravel path that leads up to the front redwood steps. The redwood is what the bench and the fence are made up of as well. The only piece of the home that stands out stark is the black shingled roof. It nearly blends in with the surrounding dark firs that threaten to engulf the property whole.</p><p>Hannibal had asked him nicely to explore the grounds in his absence. He supposes it is the least he can do if he is going to be spending a significant portion of his life here with him.</p><p>Will gives up on rubbing his shoulder, allowing the ache to throb through his arms, to the tips of his fingers as he slowly makes his way to the porch. The sound of the busy stream becomes muted as he grows further away from it. The wildlife and the water do nothing to obscure the pure and utter silence of this location. It stuns Will. He’s not sure what it will feel like when he’s inside, completely quiet and welcoming. Nothing a distraction or an irritation. </p><p>When the sliding door is open, he slips his shoes off and leaves them on the porch beside the doormat. Hannibal would not be happy if he stomped all throughout the house wearing mud-stained soles. </p><p>The furniture and decor contain deep red accents with the accompanying floor a deep orange-brown. Will wonders if Hannibal renovated this house himself back when he’d been collecting properties, or if he’d rented it out to someone with similar tastes. </p><p>The kitchen is made up of mostly blacks and whites, a very expensive appearance to it. Will has to admit he prefers a more comfortable, less pretentious, setting for cooking and baking. Even Hannibal’s previous kitchen before his incarceration had not been this <em> lavish </em>. </p><p>Will runs his fingers over the handle of a pan hanging from a rack on the ceiling. He wonders what creations Hannibal will make for them in this new life. He wonders if he will be able to convince Hannibal to make them a pizza or pancakes once in a while. </p><p>There are three bedrooms, which makes Will feel slightly uneasy for a reason unknown to him. Two would be understandable, but three makes him itch. He wants to turn the third room into an office or recreational space. He’ll have to bring it up with Hannibal; he doesn’t want guests. </p><p>Hannibal had told him. “Once you reach the top of the stairs, your bedroom is the one on the left.” There is only one bedroom and a bathroom on this side, so it isn’t a difficulty to find. </p><p>Will’s room is probably the least fancifully decorated in the entire house. For this, he is grateful. He can’t sleep well as it stands, much less in a foreign place with the interior design antipodal to his own. The bed has a deep brown and black plaid cover with pillows as tight and billowy as freshly popped popcorn bags. The large window comes with a black curtain, if Will so chooses he does not want the wildlife amongst the looming Argentinian trees to look in. </p><p>For the Hell of it, Will peeks in on Hannibal’s bedroom.</p><p>Every aspect of the room screams luxury. The golden silk sheets, the golden curtains to match. The rug underneath the bed, stretching out half-way across the entire floor, looks as if it is made of a pelt of some sort. Will nearly expects to see the head of a polar bear at the apex, with its teeth bared in defiance. It is merely flat, and soft where Will runs his socked toes over it. </p><p>It is not long he is wandering the corridors of their new home when he hears the front door open with a click. Along with it comes the familiar sound of grocery bags and car keys. Will is still upstairs, so he takes a moment to peer out the window down towards the sleek black BMW XI parked in the one-space driveway.  Hell if Will knows what the classification of the car means, but he knows it is expensive. Will had been in it once; it smelled like money. </p><p>He trots down the stairs to greet Hannibal in the kitchen. </p><p>Hannibal is busying himself, putting away groceries and fleshing out their empty cabinets with cans, spices, and boxes of ingredients written in Spanish. </p><p>“How was the store?” Will asks, helpless. He very much wants to aid Hannibal with the groceries, but he knows he is very meticulous about his organization. Especially in the kitchen. </p><p>“You’re asking if I was recognized by anyone, aren’t you?” Hannibal reads him like a book, glancing up at him with a smile. “I told you we are safe here, Will. Did you take the time to explore the house? How did you like your bedroom?” </p><p>Hannibal can change subjects like it’s a passion. Will lets him, knowing full well the dinner they’ve scheduled for tonight will be the time to put all the questions on the table, all their concerns, their desires. Whatever needs to be said by both of them. Hannibal had promised him this before taking the last step off the boat they had spent three months healing on. </p><p>“This place is grandiose,” Will says with a tick of sarcasm. “Something I would expect you to buy and live in. I do like my bedroom, it’s homey.” </p><p>“That was the intention,” Hannibal replies and Will is unsure if he means the grandiosity of their new home or the makeup of Will’s room. “Dinner will be ready around six to six thirty. Would you do me the favor of drawing the curtains?”</p><p>Will must give off an air of confusion because Hannibal adds, “Unless you would prefer us to dine with the sunset.” He can picture it, orange and red hues as they cut into their respective plates of food. It would be just as intimate as drawn curtains and candlelight, if not more so.</p><p>Bruskly, Will nods once and sets out to do his task. The dining room feels closed when he’s finished, smaller. He thinks he prefers it; even if they are in the middle of nowhere, there is that nagging in the back of his mind that someone will see them through the window and think ‘That’s the Chesepeake Ripper and his runaway bride.’</p><p>At least Freddie Lounds had the courtesy to call him a husband to Hannibal. He can’t say the same about Bedelia. </p><p>Will explores the bookshelves in the living room, ignoring the growl of his stomach as smells begin to waft in from the kitchen. Tomato, basil, and something savory. </p><p>There are quite a few books on philosophy, some classics like Moby Dick, all which seem to share a theme of consumption. Will is forced to wonder if this is on purpose. One book is Friedrich Nietzsche’s <em> Thus Spoke Zarathustra </em>. This is the only novel which appears to be book marked. Several yellow and orange index cards jutt out from the pages. He opens to one, and reads the passage; </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> But the worst enemy you can meet will always be yourself; you lie in wait for yourself in caverns and forests. Lonely one, you are going the way to yourself! And your way goes past yourself, and past your seven devils! You will be a heretic to yourself and witch and soothsayer and fool and doubter and unholy one and villain. You must be ready to burn yourself in your own flame: how could you become new, if you had not first become ashes? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Will’s index finger follows the lines of the words he reads as he heavily contemplates their connection to his own situation. The diction which strikes him the most is the claim that he is to be a heretic to himself. He’s never used the word ‘heretic’ to describe himself in his mind or in verbal conversation. It is a classification which would have felt familiar to him years ago, but not now. He is sure he would be called a heretic of nature by men like Jack who prefers their existence in the style of blue collar jobs and commonality. No longer is he one to himself. Good and evil have become childlike words to him. An immature way of identifying himself. Good and evil had been parts of the self he had to burn, or in his case, drown in the sea. </p><p>On the boat, his ashes after this primordial cremation had been heated and churned, and pressed into a diamond teacup. Now he stands before a new future, one of his own making. </p><p>Will is shaken from his thoughts when Hannibal enters the room with two trays in his hands. Each carries one large ceramic bowl of steaming food, two glasses of wine, and napkins and utensils. Will slips the book back into its place amongst the dusted collection and joins him at the table. It is set capriciously, with only a vase and two red candles lit. </p><p>“Potato gnocchi with tuco, somewhat of a delicacy here in Argentina,” Hannibal tells him, placing Will’s food in front of him. Small cut potatoes with a deep red sauce and one bay leaf makeup this meal. It looks delicious, as always. </p><p>“And here I thought you’d stick to cheeseburgers and fries,” Will jibes, eagerly picking up his fork and knife. Hannibal settles himself at the head of the table, adjacent to him and watches Will take the first bite with sparkling eyes. </p><p>“Oh,” Will says in a sigh because he is still astounded at the abilities of this man. It has also been a long time since he’s eaten anything this exquisitely luscious. “I could get used to this.”</p><p>“I hope that you do,” Hannibal responds in that quiet way that mimics vulnerability. He finally takes a bite of his own portion now that Will has dug in, and he seems to be pleased with himself. </p><p>There is a comfortable silence while they both feed their impatient hunger. It is Hannibal who first breaks the ice, as casual and conversational as he can jump into this discussion. </p><p>“You told me at sea that you would stay with me.” Hannibal doesn’t need to remind him. Will can remember word for word what he had told him. In bed one night, when the pain of his wounds overwhelmed him, and tears had been prickling his eyes for hours he had said, <em> Until I can no longer breathe, I will stay by your side </em>. It had been a comment made in hysteria, but with unbridled honesty. Will focuses now on the large bite of potato he has stashed in his cheek, warm and curious about where this conversation will head. “Has that changed?”</p><p>There is a beat before Will whispers, “No.” </p><p>Hannibal ponders this with a sip of wine. </p><p>“Forgive me for sounding repetitive, however, I wish to be certain. There are many things people do not consider before making a final decision. You would not offend me if you are having second thoughts. You have taken in the house, I’m sure you’ve imagined our future. Are you sure this is what you want? You cannot escape your own becoming, but I am giving you the chance to escape me. Go on your own path.”  </p><p>Will holds back a scoff, lips twitching at the corners. </p><p>“You <em> are </em>the only path, one that comes with a neon sign that says ‘Danger Ahead Keep Away.’ You imply I have a choice in the matter when you know for a fact I do not.” Hannibal looks as if he wants to protest, but Will puts a gentle hand up to show he doesn’t wish to be hostile. “You are not keeping me here against my will. I made the choice years ago that I would follow you where you go. I got in my own way, I found my way back to you. Do not feign innocence, Hannibal. You don’t have to anymore, not with me. Please don’t lie to me.”</p><p>Hannibal seems only momentarily unconvinced so Will adds, “I’m incapable of outrunning my desire to be with you Hannibal, to experience beauty with you.” </p><p>There is a tension lifted from them both. </p><p>“That brings me to another question,” Hannibal says formally, but Will can tell he is glowing from his candid response. “However, I want this to be an eye for an eye. You may ask a question first if you wish.”</p><p>“No,” Will mutters, intrigued. “No, tell me. Ask me, I mean.”</p><p>“I want to understand what kind of beauty you expect to experience with me, Will. Would you share in bloodshed with me once more?” Hannibal’s eyes glisten with hope, and the words almost cause Will to shudder. Bloodshed, like the Dragon’s, like Randall’s. </p><p>“Yes. I want to,” Will says slowly, watching every twitch of Hannibal’s expression. The pleasure at the agreement, the anticipation taking the place of his hope. He could play him like a flute, again, if he so wished. It would be so easy, like crushing one of Bedelia’s small birds. But, Will no longer wishes to deceive him. He’s not sure he ever did. He is finally free of his binds and shackles. “This is new to me, and I want to explore it. Together.”</p><p>Hannibal reaches a hand across the space between them, placing it gently over the back of Will’s hand. </p><p>“You have abandoned the comfort of your familial cocoon. I saw your wings when they spread and I can see them now. The design of your becoming has taken full form, Will, and it could not be more beautiful.” His fingers brush lightly against Will’s knuckles as he retracts his hand. Will is left speechless by this praise, Hannibal’s admiration casting something dark within him, something resembling possession. </p><p>He wants to return the verbal favor, but words are caught on his tongue. He’s not sure what Hannibal wants to hear; he is already so satisfied, Will could feel it like a spark through their brief contact. Instead, he smiles lightly at him, but genuinely. </p><p>“Voice your concerns, Will,” Hannibal says suddenly. He leans back in his seat to focus more on his meal. “I know you have several.” </p><p>“Not that pressing,” Will admonishes. “I just haven’t exactly been on the run before. At sea, any concerns I might have had, they’d barely been thoughts. I couldn’t much think past the context of the ocean and when I would stop feeling like a freight train hit me.”</p><p>“I can empathize,” Hannibal admits freely. </p><p>While he’d been given ample time during the preparation of this meal to ponder his first question, he’s left at an impasse. There is so much and so little he cares to say.</p><p>He opts for, “How long are we going to be here for?”</p><p>“It is not set in stone. We could be here for months, or for years. All depending on how long you wish to stay. Or if there is an emergency,” Hannibal pauses when he sees worry seep into Will’s face, tilting his head towards him. “It is highly unlikely there will be an emergency.” </p><p>“I still think we should limit our time amongst crowds.” </p><p>“Human beings grow suspicious of the socially dormant. At one point, we will have to bite the bullet and acquaint ourselves with the locals.” </p><p>Will taps his fork against his lips. “Alright. I guess you’re not wrong.”</p><p>“Is it my turn?” Hannibal asks and Will nods. “You have answered my most pressing questions already. My last question is that of any unfinished business.”</p><p>Jack. Molly. Walter. The dogs. </p><p>Will rubs discreetly at the gold band on his ring finger. </p><p>“I can’t go back,” he says simply. It is for his own benefit rather than Hannibal’s. Molly had not crossed his mind once on the cliffside, not once when he had plummeted into the dark cold water, not even a fraction of a thought when he’d lugged Hannibal to shore and breathed life into him. There had been fleeting thoughts on the boat, and now he is forced to remember in full. Their marriage, her love for him. </p><p>Hannibal appears to realize Will needs to take a moment to gather his thoughts into something coherent. He is remarkably patient for the man who once tried to have his family killed. </p><p>“I cannot forget her,” Will puts his fork and knife down, laying his hands flat on the table. “But, I left none of me back there. Perhaps a ghost of who I was. She’s safer away from the monster.” </p><p>“Not a monster,” Hannibal says in a quiet, soothing voice. To Molly, he is very much a monster. The one that she’d thought she conditioned and housed like a stray dog. He hopes she can find peace quickly, that Walter can as well. “Have you reached closure then?”</p><p>Instead of answering, Will takes a moment to shimmy the ring off his finger and places it in Hannibal’s hand. “Don’t tell me what you do with it. Get rid of it.” </p><p>Hannibal slips it into his pocket, and Will can tell he’s struggling not to come across as pleased. A part of him wants to tell Hannibal that it’s okay; he loves Hannibal best when he hates him. The selfish possessiveness of his veneer, not righteous in any sense other than for his own pleasure. Will finds it irresistible, a part of him always has. </p><p>Hannibal checks his watch then, nothing more than a glance, but Will catches it. It isn’t like him to want to hurry a conversation, let alone this divulgence of the souls. He keeps the gesture in the back of his mind when he asks his next question.</p><p>“I suppose I could ask the same courtesy from you. Any unfinished business I should know about?” Will asks, with a coy cock of the head. He knows Hannibal has quite a bit. </p><p>“You wish for me to be entirely forthright,” Hannibal says it more as a statement than a question, but Will gives him one sharp nod. “This may be months from now, or it could be years. Depending on when you would be willing to travel, or to allow me to travel. I made a promise to Alana.” </p><p>Will shifts. He knows very well what promise Hannibal made to Alana. </p><p>“I am not asking you to kill Alana with me,” Hannibal clarifies. </p><p>“I know,” Will replies in the all too silent room. “But, you’re not saying I can’t.”</p><p>“I would always welcome you.”</p><p>“It is conflicting for me,” Will explains. “A part of me wants nothing to do with it. It is your business with her, and I don’t care to inflict any of myself upon her. I made no such promise.” </p><p>“And yet?” Hannibal can sense the upcoming ‘but’ Will is hesitant to speak.</p><p>“But, I have a deeply rooted urge to share my becoming with those people in my life who have feared it the most. The people who feel it is their doing, but c-can’t understand…” Will is beginning to tremble, the thought of killing Alana in front of Jack, or vice versa. Of killing Bedelia. The thought makes him grip the edge of the table; he nearly sees red. </p><p>“You need time to marinate with your thoughts,” Hannibal whispers, enthralled by how quickly overwhelmed Will can become. “I merely wished for you to know that I cannot take back my promise to her and in turn, her family.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t ask you to,” Will promises plain and simple. “I won’t.” </p><p>“If you wish to join me when the time comes, I will welcome you with open arms. If you do not choose to join me, I will not hold it against you.” </p><p>“I know,” Will responds warmly.</p><p>“There is one pressing matter,” Hannibal says after swallowing a bite of his meal. “Bedelia Du Maurier.” Will’s stomach flips. “She knows of this house.”</p><p>“You told her about this place?” Will bristles with a sudden surge of animosity. “Why make such a juvenile decision? You were in <em> Florence </em>.”</p><p>“She does not know the address or the province.” </p><p>“That doesn’t–”</p><p>“Will, she will not tell Jack or anyone.” </p><p>“You’ve always had those unspoken pacts with her,” Will notes. “One of these days she’s going to realize that your little cat and mouse game isn’t as appealing as being alive and relatively uncooked.” He sips strongly at his wine. It tastes bitter. </p><p>Hannibal’s perpetually amused expression becomes irritating. Especially as his smile grows wider, teeth baring slightly. </p><p>“Do you know what I’m asking you, Will?” </p><p>Will makes eye contact with him, as difficult as it is. It calms him considerably. </p><p>“When the time comes in which Jack realizes we were not swallowed up by the sea, but instead spit out and reborn, it would be generous to manifest this confirmation in the form of a body.” </p><p>“A sacrifice,” Will breathes unsteadily.</p><p>“Do not get me wrong. I have no intention for our getting caught. I do not want to flaunt our extravagance so much that it destroys us. However, I believe Jack must know.”</p><p>“I agree.”</p><p>“Bedelia will not say anything about our whereabouts. She most likely suspects I am alive, but as long as the rumor that we are dead is at the forefront of everyone’s mind, she will remain quiet.” </p><p>“I believe you,” Will says and is surprised that he does. “I guess this means I’ll be keeping a watchful eye on Tattlecrime from now on.” </p><p>“If you do not wish to look at that abhorrent mess of a webpage, we can check it in shifts,” Hannibal says lightly and Will chuckles, rage turned down to an amiable simmering. </p><p>“I forget who’s turn it was,” Will mutters. </p><p>“I am content with the answers I have received, Will.” </p><p>Will looks to him, finding no fraction of a doubt in Hannibal’s face. He had been expecting the topic of, well, <em> intimacy </em>to be brought about. They will be together for the foreseeable future, forever as far as Will is concerned. He knows Hannibal loves him. He thought Hannibal would at least want to make an inquiry about Will’s own feelings, not that he’s sure he’d know how to respond if he was faced head on with such a topic. </p><p>“I am, uh, content too, then.” </p><p>“Are you certain?”</p><p>Will clears his throat. “Yes.”</p><p>Hannibal does not appear disappointed in the slightest, but there is something behind his eyes that Will can’t place. He is distracted by this, and doesn’t notice when Hannibal picks up his hand and brings his knuckles to his lips, kissing them chastely. </p><p>Will’s eyes are round and engrossed in the moment, watching Hannibal drop his hand just smoothly as he’d picked it up. </p><p>“I have a surprise for you,” Hannibal tells him and Will can feel his face heating. He has no clue what to expect, especially after such an affectionate gesture. Hannibal has never kissed his hand, or any part of his body. He had been gentle with his fingers when tending to wounds and scars. Treated him like porcelain for most of their relationship. “Come with me.” </p><p>Their meals are relatively finished, so he follows Hannibal out to the car. It has grown dark, the sky no more than a deep purple-orange gradient, mixing into black as night falls further. </p><p>They drive far enough that Will begins to grow concerned. </p><p>His concern transforms into a small blossoming fear when Hannibal tugs off his tie and carefully wraps it around Will’s eyes. He helps Will get out of the car, keeping a steady hand on his arm the entire while, and walks him a small distance which seems longer while blind.</p><p>There is a waterfall of sorts, Will can tell that much even without sight. </p><p>“You may remove the tie.” </p><p>Will does, and his jaw drops at the sight. Even in the night, he can see how vibrant the aquamarine water is. It is a large lake, with a beautiful, white, foamy stream descending into it from above. The area is surrounded by fences, and deep green trees. He can tell tourists come here.  </p><p>“Cascadas de Tamasopo,” Hannibal says. “I might have put in a few calls to have it be empty for the next two hours. Pricey, but worth it.” </p><p>“You shouldn’t be wasting your money on something like this.” Will’s voice is unsteady, but he can’t pry his gaze away from the waterfall, or the variety of them for that matter. </p><p>“It is our money, now,” Hannibal says under his breath and Will’s head snaps back to look at him in disbelief. His lips part, a million protests on his tongue until Hannibal shakes his head. “I know when to spend and when not to spend. This is something I wanted to do for our first day in this life. You and I deserve such majesty.” </p><p>“We’re living like kings,” Will muses sarcastically. </p><p>Hannibal’s hand is at the curve of his back, pressing lightly. “If I could treat you like a God, I would worship at your feet, Will.” </p><p>“God is cruel,” Will reminds. “Perhaps he would not look kindly upon your belated decision to worship him.” </p><p>“God knows of a man’s devotion even before he does. I worshipped you from the moment I laid eyes on you, even if it took me a while to understand fully what that meant for me.”</p><p>There is a heavy beat of silence accompanied by running water. Will’s focus narrows to the hand on his spine, and the gaze directed at his neck. </p><p>“From the moment you saw me?”</p><p>“Likely before I even heard mention of your name.” </p><p>Will looks away, finding nothing but truth in Hannibal’s face. He toys with the belt around his pants. “I don’t have anything to swim in.” </p><p>“And why not allow nature to embrace our bodies as God created them?” </p><p>Will turns back around to find Hannibal stripping his clothes efficiently, placing them one by one, folded, into a black duffel bag by the edge of the lake. Will’s eyes fall to the curve of his back, the two round planes of his ass as his pants and underwear slip off to follow his shirt. </p><p>Hannibal glances over his shoulder once before diving in. His body moves like ripples of a tide. The brand on his back curves and twists as his shoulder muscles pull his body closer to the falling water. Will’s fingers have already found their way to the buttons of his shirt and he begins to undress, keeping his eyes trained on Hannibal’s movements. </p><p>He slips his underwear off, self-conscious only for a moment before he slips into the water and wades over to Hannibal who is treading in place, staring up at where the water curves over the cliffside. Will treads beside him, not as good of a swimmer. He pants breathily, his hands move more rapidly to keep himself up. He wonders how he ever dragged Hannibal to shore at the bluff. </p><p>“There is one such as this in Italy called Marmore Falls. Do you know the legend?” </p><p>Will shakes his head, entranced by the look of wonder in Hannibal’s eyes. </p><p>“A nymph named Black fell in love with a young shepard named Velino. The Gods who looked upon Black as a part of their caste decided for themselves that she was above this man, did not consider her love just, due to his status. They mercilessly turned her into the Black River in Mount Carrier. Velino discovered this and hurled himself off the top of the cliff, directly into the Black River so he could be with his love once more. For a lifetime.” </p><p>“Is it man-made?” Will asks quietly, eyes tracing Hannibal’s broad shoulders.</p><p>“Yes. By the Romans, yet I prefer the lore.”</p><p>“I do too,” Will confesses. Hannibal makes eye contact and descends under the water. Will moves out of the way, for fear that he’ll see something he doesn’t quite want him to see. Not yet. Not in the context that Will is imagining. Hannibal seems to have a separate destination in mind, emerging from the water every twenty or so seconds as he departs from the falls and heads towards a more closed off area.</p><p>Will follows, because when does he not?</p><p>There is a cave that Hannibal is heading towards, and he strains himself to catch up with him, remembering soon enough that Hannibal used to swim every day for years. </p><p>“Occasionally, you can feel fish swim past your ankles in this part of the course. During the day, tourists will swing into the water on vines, or be helped around by a tour guide. I enjoy the natural feeling of exploration.” Hannibal finds a place where he can stand, still neck deep in the almost glowing cyan water. “How are you faring, Will.”</p><p>Will is surprised to find that after all that swimming, his shoulder feels perfectly fine. Earlier, there had been pinpricks of his pain that practically reached down to his toes. Now, there is an overbearing feeling of nothing. A fish rushes past his thigh and he jumps. </p><p>“This is beautiful,” he whispers sincerely, running his fingers through the cool water. He wonders how it is so clean and so bright all at once. </p><p>He ignores the pang in his chest when he sees how droplets of water fall from strands of Hannibal’s hair, drenched and drawn back as he emerges from underneath, head thrown back.</p><p>They swim and chat for a while. Hannibal tells him more about Italy, and the Punte de Dios, the place they are at, what happens during the day when it is not just the shadows of killers taking in the sights. At one point, when Will begins to feel clammy, Hannibal suggests they go back towards the car. Will agrees compliantly, content to go along with anything he suggests.</p><p>On their way back, there is a nagging in the back of his mind. If Will had to pick one word to describe it, he would use ‘insanity.’ His draw to Hannibal is only growing stronger, as he’d thought it had peaked at the bluff. He feels it strengthening even as he watches Hannibal’s bared form crawl up onto land, fishing around in their bags for their clothes. </p><p>It doesn’t take much anymore. No nightmare stags. No gaslit rapport. </p><p>Will feels overheated, body surrounded by the cold lake. It could swallow him whole, this feeling, and yet his urge is to rush towards it, and to grip it with his claws and tear and shred, is even stronger than the edge of fear that still lingers in his gut. It is impossible to ascend from a fall, and so he will continue to fall down. Far from the bluff, far from his old life. </p><p>Towards Hannibal, with Hannibal.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I've never been to Argentina, but I hope if people have been to Cascadas de Tamasopo, my fic lives up to it. I know I said my Hannibal juice had been drained, but honestly in the span of two minutes, it was revived again. Get ready for a ten chapter bonanza, babies. xoxo. I'll try to update regularly, maybe every two or three days.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Will spends most of his days fly fishing in the lake by their house. It is free food as well as something to do in the middle of the day when Hannibal’s piano playing and conversation grow somewhat dry. The truth is, the conversations rarely grow dry, but they often come to a standstill when the two of them skirt around subjects that neither dare bring up.</p><p>Yesterday, Will had been talking about his back ache. It is the occasional symptom of growing accustomed to a new mattress, a new bed. Hannibal had suggested he move into the third bedroom, and Will had declined on the fact that he hates how many windows there are in there. One of which does not have a curtain. The unspoken answer is that he hates the room itself, still scheming ways to transform it into an office of sorts. Hannibal then offered his bed, and it was very probable that he had meant they could swap for a night or two, rather than share, but Will’s wide eyes and frozen body had been enough for Hannibal to backtrack, somewhat awkwardly. </p><p>Other than these minor mishaps, the past couple of weeks have been smooth sailing. Will tries not to think about Hannibal in the way that always prods at the back of his mind. He can’t put it off forever, but a part of him just wants to revel in this vacation-esque existence, and let <em> other </em>things progress naturally.</p><p>A fish nibbles at the hook, the line shaking as he begins to reel in his third catch of the day. It will be late evening soon, and Hannibal will want to start preparation for dinner. He had promised some fish fillet, something dark and salty. Hannibal enjoys when Will gives him vague ideas of what he’s in the mood for, whether it’s something sweet or savory, or perhaps he’ll say something along the lines of, “As long as there’s cheese in it.” </p><p>Hannibal likes to roam around the kitchen, fluttering through a roll of index cards he’d handwritten recipes on, trying to find a specific one that would fit both he and Will’s tastes for the night. </p><p>The fish he captures is big, green, and healthy. He places it in the container he has attached to his new belt. Hannibal had bought him some gear five days ago when he’d taken a longer trip to the store. Will is thinking about asking him if he can come along soon. His fear of being found and taken into custody is beginning to subside, and his cabin fever has been dragging him into a worse kind of Hell. He would do anything to be rid of it, errands included. </p><p>Will hauls his things back to the house, placing all of his gear outside on the porch, bringing the fish to the kitchen where Hannibal eagerly gathers them up, spreading them out on the cutting board to have his pick of the paltry selection. </p><p>“Such a remarkable catch today, Will. You could have been a professional fisherman.” Hannibal picks the big green one, and a brown one, lesser in girth. He stores the third away for future use. </p><p>“I <em> was </em>a professional fisherman, in a sense. I lured you in,” Will says.</p><p>“That you did. But, you technically didn’t catch me.” </p><p>“You caught yourself,” Will remembers. “You dangled on the hook for three years, caught in stasis, gasping for one more breath, not knowing when you’d run out.” </p><p>“You helped me back into the water, where I belonged. Where you belonged.” </p><p>Will circles around the kitchen and hops up on an empty counter, assuming Hannibal isn’t using it. He swings his legs. “Your metaphors are getting lazy, Doctor.”</p><p>Hannibal comes to stand in front of him, and before Will can even react, he lifts him up off the counter by his hips, placing him back on his feet.</p><p>“Don’t be rude.” Hannibal’s voice is playful, but his eyes glimmer something more dangerous. It surprises Will how little this frightens him, and how warm it makes him feel.</p><p>“Ey, ey, captain,” Will snarks, but eventually wanders out of the room to avoid bothering Hannibal’s routine. He finds a brochure on the dining table, and with a furrowed brow, skims over it from front to back. It is for Lanin National Park, but he can’t read most of the words.</p><p>His Spanish has never been that good, so he brings it back to Hannibal and waves it around. “What’s this?”</p><p>“I was going to ask you during dinner if you would like to go to the Lanin National Park. You seem about ready to jump out of your skin if you don’t go somewhere soon,” Hannibal says with a patient smile. He is gutting the fish. “We can go elsewhere if you like.”</p><p>“No, I’d…” Will looks at the pictures on the brochure. “I’d love to see the animals.” </p><p>“I’d love to see them with you. I’ve never actually gone despite my ventures in this part of South America. Would you be amenable?”</p><p>“As long as you think it’s safe,” Will grumbles, feigning a small level of resistance. He knows Hannibal enjoys convincing him, and if he’s being honest, he enjoys being convinced. </p><p>“More than safe. It is so vast, we will most likely not be within forty feet of another visitor. Do you care for horses?” </p><p>“They’re like big dogs,” Will answers. “Except I can’t exactly bring them home.”</p><p>Hannibal looks thoughtful and Will shakes his head with a laugh. “Don’t you dare get any ideas. We’re not getting a horse. If we had to up and leave the country on short notice, we wouldn’t have time to relocate it.” </p><p>“Horse riding lessons, sometime then,” Hannibal suggests with a gleam in his eyes.</p><p>“I don’t know,” Will looks away, his grin widening. “Maybe, I’ll get back to you on that one.” </p><p>“I do so enjoy how you look when I spoil you. Forgive me for indulging myself.”</p><p>Will’s throat feels tight as he watches Hannibal continue the preparations for their dinner. His first instinct is to protest, but he’s sure his pink cheeks and stammering is only going to spur Hannibal on more, so he stays silent.</p><p>“When are we going?” He asks quietly after some time.</p><p>“Tomorrow, if you’re up for it,” Hannibal replies without missing a beat. He looks up to check if Will is still onboard, delighted to observe excitement in his eyes along with a shaky smile. </p><p>“Just tell me what to wear.” </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The clothes Hannibal suggests are strikingly similar to his fishing gear, perhaps with a bit more potency for the rockier treks through this boundless reserve. So far, neither of them have spotted a single animal. There had been one bird in the sky which Hannibal had pointed at, but it had been anticlimactic to say the least.  He is more enjoying Hannibal’s company. </p><p>The thrill of being by Hannibal’s side has not lessened. It has only grown more intense with every second that he’s spent in Argentina. After three years of pretending he wasn’t yearning to see his face again, to feel his touch even if it were just a hand against his shoulder, had done nothing to squash this volatile feeling within. </p><p>Hannibal catches him staring and stops in his tracks with a smirk stretching along his cheeks. Perfect. Will at least used to be able to get away with it back in the days of office visits and pre-dinner party conversations. Now, when it’s just them, Hannibal feels much more comfortable bringing Will’s behaviours out into the open. Perhaps it is a strategy Will should be wary of, but his face heats under Hannibal’s gaze and he rolls to a stop, running his shoe against the soft grass beneath them, riding blades out of the dirt. </p><p>“What is it?” He grumbles, and resumes walking. Hannibal languidly matches his pace.</p><p>“You occasionally stare at me with a question in your eyes,” Hannibal explains. He is so close their shoulders are nearly brushing. “You do realize I would answer any of them with as much honesty as you would allow. You didn’t miss your chance the first night we were here.” </p><p>The fact is, Will has been holding back. Not because he thought questions were off the table, but because he is accustomed to beating around the bush when it comes to Hannibal. Honesty had never been a strong suit in their relationship, nor was forthright inquiry. </p><p>“I guess this is just new to me,” Will says, quietly taking in the mountains and large trees in the distance, almost appearing like a painting rather than a landscape. </p><p>“It is new to me as well,” Hannibal admits. “I have not had the chance to share myself with many people. It has been a long time, perhaps since Mischa.”</p><p>“Perhaps truth would spoil what we have.”</p><p>Hannibal shakes his head. “I don’t think you believe that, Will. You’re nervous about exposing yourself to me when you shouldn’t be. You’ve already achieved your becoming. I have no reason to use anything you tell me against you.”</p><p>Will barks out a dry laugh. “Yeah, I guess not. But, I’ve already been exposed. You know more about me than I know about myself.”</p><p>“That is not entirely true. I do not know your favorite color, what you think about the existence of aliens, or if you’ve ever seen a Guanaco.” </p><p>Will stalls, and with a small voice he says, “I don’t know what a Guanaco is.” </p><p>Hannibal puts a steady hand on his back and points to his left. Will turns his head to see a large, llama looking creature, the color of caramel. It is grazing the pastures. </p><p>“Red,” he says suddenly. “Red is my favorite color.” </p><p>Hannibal hums, but does not respond. Will takes one step towards the animal, entranced with it. “Can we go closer?” </p><p>“Yes, we are allowed.”</p><p>They walk together, getting no further than five feet in front of the Guanaco. “This park is known for Guanaco sightings, however, I’m told it is rare,” Hannibal informs. They take another few minutes to admire the creature in its natural habitat. Will wonders if it is soft. </p><p>“I want to talk freely to you, about anything that comes to mind,” Will admits after some time. “I don’t want to hold back, and I don’t want you to hold back.”</p><p>“You will have no resistance from me,” Hannibal says as if it has been this way for their whole time living here. That is not entirely true. He knows Hannibal wants him in more ways than one. He’d be lying if he said he isn’t trying to nudge him into admitting as much; he has no clue why Hannibal feels the need to be quiet when he knows Will is not going to leave. </p><p>Will turns to him, eyes wide and beseeching. “Would you tell me about your childhood? If I asked you?”</p><p>“I’m assuming you’re asking now,” Hannibal notes coyly. </p><p>“If you’d rather not tell me anything,” Will starts but Hannibal shushes him, fingers dancing over his shoulder, a pre-grip dynamism. </p><p>“Will, there is no privacy between us, at least not when it comes to me. You have the rights to any part of me, if you so desire.”</p><p>Will sighs and nods, watching the Guanaco trot into the distance away from them. He turns and begins to walk back in the direction they came, Hannibal following him at the hip. </p><p>“I went to Lithuania to understand you, and felt only fragments and impressions of who you were. My desperation stunned me, and yet I felt it like an electrical coil had wrapped around my insides. My trip to Italy prior to that birthed within me a sharp feeling. To know more, to understand you further. But, you weren’t there. And Chiyoh was anything but helpful.” </p><p>Hannibal lets out a small chuckle. “I always admired her aversion to veracity.” </p><p>“I strung up the tenant, in the depiction of a firefly. I hoped one day you would see it and know it was my work.” Will swallows, remembering the pleasure he had felt tugging at the ropes as he watched his design come to life. “He was glowing.”</p><p>Hannibal is silent for a few moments, most likely picturing the display in his mind. “Could I draw it, if you described it to me?” </p><p>Will blinks, and nods. “I’m not sure how good of a describer I’ll be.”</p><p>“It is no matter.” Hannibal is holding back a smile. “Mischa was a confident, vibrant personality. She would pose for my drawings, her leg bouncing with impatience. She would yell at me to finish, and in my youth, my drawings were no more than feeble sketches. When she saw them, she would call me a ‘Prietranka’ which was a nice way of calling me dumb.”</p><p>A genuine laugh stutters out of Will</p><p>“Her sense of humor was something to admire,” he adds.</p><p>“From what you tell me, she sounded like a joy to be around. Like Abigail, you have to adore the pure innocence that comes with childhood.”</p><p>“You would have liked me at that time in my life,” Hannibal muses solemnly. “You wouldn’t see death when you looked into my eyes.”</p><p>“I prefer you now. I’m sure then I wouldn’t have found you nearly as interesting,” Will says playfully. He holds back a comment about how he wouldn’t want Hannibal’s eyes to change, he enjoys their eye contact as it is now. Dark, and devastatingly sultry. </p><p>“I remember a time you told me you didn’t find me interesting,” Hannibal smiles at him, burying his thoughts of Mischa once more. Will hopes they can come to a point where it isn’t as painful for Hannibal to talk about her, at least not to him. </p><p>“You know how I am in the morning.” </p><p>“Your cavalier attitude charmed me instantly.” </p><p>“I’ve been told it does quite the opposite,” Will mutters. “I was surprised at how fast I started to take an interest in you. I didn’t really know why, I don’t get along well with others, but I felt safe around you strangely enough.” </p><p>“I offered you a comfortable psychiatric atmosphere, knowing you would feel safe. It is not surprising to me.” Will is stunned at how easily Hannibal is divulging the inner workings of his manipulation tactics. “Do you still feel safe with me?”</p><p>“I don’t know if safe is the right word. Comfortable, again, maybe.” </p><p>“Good,” Hannibal responds softly. </p><p>They slowly begin to wind their way back to the car. Will’s fingers brush Hannibal’s on accident, and he pulls his arm back to make sure it doesn’t happen again. His heartbeat speeds up for a moment, and he inwardly chastises himself for his own bodily reaction. </p><p>“I know you hate when I spoil you, but I get the impression you’ve enjoyed this little journey into our new world. Would you be ready for another soon?” Hannibal asks this while he digs around for the keys in his pocket. </p><p>Will swallows, looks down at his feet. “Depends on what it is.” </p><p>“I would like to bring you to Buenos Aires. To an opera.” </p><p>Will stops walking, looking at Hannibal like he’s got three heads. “That’s in the city,” he states as if it isn’t obvious, grasping for another excuse. “It’s more than a fifteen hour long drive.”</p><p>“I could book a hotel room,” Hannibal replies plainly. “No one will recognize us, Will.”</p><p>Will could argue that he’s wrong. Someone could certainly recognize them, but he finds he is confident in Hannibal’s judgement. No one will be looking for them at an opera house. They are in South America, under the guise of immigrated Europeans. </p><p>A hotel room. An opera. With Hannibal. </p><p>How can he refuse when it’s something he wants so profoundly? His ability to say ‘no’ to Hannibal progressively weakens as the days turn into weeks, into months. In the face of his wants and desires, he’s helpless. </p><p>“Okay,” he agrees and Hannibal grins. “Stop that.” </p><p>“Arrangements have already been made for next week.”</p><p>“Of course they have.” </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The drive to Buenos Aires is no picnic. An eighteen hour drive, if you go the full way without stopping. With the misfortune of an abundance of red lights, and rest stops, they can’t hope to make it in that amount of time. Not at their age, or in their current health.</p><p>While their wounds have been relatively healed, aches and pains still visit them from time to time. Hannibal hasn’t been as effortlessly fluid in his movements. For the time being, they have given into their body’s requests to slow down. Will is positive when Hannibal starts to feel more like himself, he’ll start requesting wilder ventures into Argentinian culture. Will vows to never try sand boarding. Even he has dignity. </p><p>A twelve hour drive even with stops is taxing. Will takes several accidental naps in the front seat of the car, waking with a small twinge of guilt that Hannibal can’t rest too. It is an hour after they stop for dinner at a small family business style restaurant that Hannibal pulls into the parking lot of a large white building. The stories lead up to the sky, past the clouds. </p><p>“We here?” Will grumbles.</p><p>“At the hotel, yes. We’ll leave early for the Teatro Colón tomorrow, we still have quite a few hours to go.” Hannibal taps his shoulder, signaling for help with the bags. Will hops out of his seat and moves to grab his suitcase. </p><p>“After that, four hours are gonna feel like nothing. You want me to carry your bag?” Will is already tossing Hannibal’s satchel over his shoulder before he can argue. “I don’t want you to strain yourself.”</p><p>Hannibal looks peeved, but says nothing as they lock the car and head for the lobby.</p><p>Will feels like a fish out of water. The lobby is extravagant, bright golds and silvers lining the columns and swallowing up the furniture. It’s too bright, practically a hospital; it makes him utterly uncomfortable and he sticks close to Hannibal’s shoulder as he checks in, in Spanish. </p><p>A bell boy takes their bags. Will grimaces at the ridiculous <em> expense </em>of this place. </p><p>“I don’t see why we couldn’t just stay at a little motel,” Will tells him under his breath in the elevator. The bellhop is still by their side, but he doesn’t want to risk him knowing English. Hannibal, of course, does not respond quietly. </p><p>“We deserve the best after all we’ve been through.” There is a smug twinkle in his eyes. “I thought I’d told you that.”</p><p>“Doesn’t mean I have to get it.”</p><p>Will soon finds out that their room is not a <em> room </em>, but a suite. There is a large king sized bed, a very small kitchenette, and a bathroom. It is the size of their living room, doubled. </p><p>“Looks like King Midas threw up on the walls,” he says bluntly. </p><p>The sides of Hannibal’s lips twitch up, and he bites the inside of his cheek. He’s loving this, how uncomfortable wealth makes him. Will notices then that the bed is just that, <em> the </em>bed.</p><p>Hannibal sees his dilemma before he can voice it, so he pads into the room to give him space before saying, “The suites with two or more beds have been booked tonight. And I did want to get us a suite, not a regular room.”</p><p>“I don’t mind, I didn’t say I minded.” Will clenches his jaw. “You’ve cut into my head with the intention of eating my brain. Sharing a bed with you shouldn’t be an issue.”</p><p>They had shared a bed on the boat, after all. </p><p>Tension that Will hadn’t noticed was there appears to leave Hannibal’s body and he smiles back at Will brightly, unpacking their things. It is a fruitless effort considering they’re only going to be staying two nights, but Will follows suit nonetheless.</p><p>He is used to packing heavy and using practically nothing when he stays at hotels. He’ll bring ten pairs of pants for a three day trip, and only end up using one of them, only ever looking in his bags for his toothbrush. He supposes Hannibal is more used to this type of life, while Will is more used to being frugal. </p><p>“Are you trying to assimilate me into being a cultured person?” Will questions, sitting on the foot of the bed once he’s toed his shoes off. Hannibal turns, in the middle of folding a shirt. </p><p>“Assimilate is a strong word,” he replies. “I am merely opening your mind to new possibilities. Hoping you find something you can latch onto, something to enjoy.”</p><p>“What if I hate what you like?”</p><p>“Have you hated what I like so far?”</p><p>“No, but that’s not the point.” Will sighs, laying down horizontally. He is met with the bland white of the ceiling. “I’m asking if you’d be disappointed if I couldn’t do these things anymore. If I never wanted to go to another opera. If you introduce me to a sport I don’t like. Do you expect me to enjoy all these things?”</p><p>“I wouldn’t be disappointed in you.”</p><p>“Not in me, in general.”</p><p>The bed dips suddenly, and Will sits up frantically on his elbows to keep him in view. Hannibal is staring down at him gently, with no hint of malice or jest in his eyes. Will has a fleeting thought; he thinks about Hannibal putting a hand on his thigh, a little too high up on his leg to be a comforting gesture. He shakes the thought away when Hannibal begins to speak. </p><p>“Do you think I need you to enjoy the opera, or events thereafter?”</p><p>“I want to relish in this life, the life you’re used to. But, I don’t know if I can.” Will is hoping Hannibal can pick up on the slim metaphor in there. He wants to touch Hannibal, but he can’t do it first. He’s not sure if he has the strength for that. “It’s new. It’s alien to me.”</p><p>“We will take things slow,” Hannibal affirms. “If you do not enjoy the opera or another event, we will experience other activities together. Anything <em> you </em>like. I am sure there have been things you’ve wanted to do, but never had the time, or the company.” </p><p>Will nods. “Yeah. Sorry, I guess this is all just, a bit much.”</p><p>“I detest that no one has treated you lavishly, even in Louisiana.” </p><p>Will lets out a laugh. “Not much goes on in Louisiana other than crawfish and boat motors, if that.” He watches Hannibal settle down on the bed beside him, propped up on one arm. His face is significantly closer to Will’s and he’s reminded with a ringing in his ears they’ll be sharing the bed tonight. “I’ve never been to an opera,” he admits.</p><p>“I figured as much,” Hannibal says fondly. </p><p>“Do you think I’ll like it?”</p><p>“I think you’ll surprise yourself.”</p><p>Later, when they are dressed for bed, and Hannibal shuts the light off and gathers himself under the sheets, Will turns on his side to watch him. The moonlight coming through the window illuminates his face in a way it hadn’t on the boat. Being in this bed with him feels different than it did then. No stitching back together, focusing on survival. He can focus on the steadiness of Hannibal’s breath, of the shadows his hair makes where it falls.</p><p>Hannibal turns to Will, then, pleased to find Will staring.</p><p>“Penny for your thoughts?” </p><p>“You have too many pennies,” Will mutters with a crooked smile. “I was thinking about when we shared a bed on the boat coming over here. I didn’t think much about it then.”</p><p>“You’re thinking about it now?” Hannibal asks.</p><p>“Yes. It feels more surreal, as if I were not running. Like the stream in my mind has slowed to a stop, unnatural as a lazy river is, but calming. It feels intimate.” </p><p>“We have healed,” Hannibal says, voice sounding more reigned in than usual. “In the night our inhibitions are lowered, and our emotions heightened. Rumination can have the appearance of relevant retrospection. What are you ruminating about?”</p><p>“At the moment, how much you sound like a psychiatrist again.” </p><p>“It is often helpful to fall back on old habits,” Hannibal says softly. They stare at each other for a few beats, and Will experiences a spike of confidence. </p><p>“Would you like to hear what I’m ruminating about now, Doctor?” </p><p>“Always.” </p><p>“I’m thinking you’re well-built for a middle aged man.” </p><p>There is an unwieldy silence before Hannibal smiles and says, “I’m unsure if I’m supposed to take this as a compliment or not. However, you are accurate with the age bracket.” </p><p>Will internally curses a mantra. </p><p>“Just being honest.” He hates how mousy his own voice sounds, especially after such a poor choice of words. <em> Well-built? </em> He’d really told Hannibal he’s <em> well-built </em>. That is something he can never take back or unhear on a loop in his mind. He could have said anything else. </p><p>“Clever boy,” is all Hannibal says before turning back around to lie on his right side, apparently done with the conversation. Will feels a little balked, and out of breath, so he turns on his other side and squeezes his eyes shut, willing sleep to sweep him away.</p><p>It does, forty minutes later, after his skin stops tingling with nerves. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Just as Will predicted, the four hour drive feels like nothing especially after a full lunch. It isn’t anything to write home about either. After all the walks and exercise he’d been doing at home, stepping out of the car and stretching out his stiff legs feels like nothing so much as relief. </p><p>“You look dashing,” Hannibal says, straightening Will’s tie. </p><p>“You told me that in the lobby,” Will grumbles, letting him. “If you’re fishing for compliments, I already told you, you look good.”</p><p>“You deflect because you do not believe in your own beauty. You could have the world in the palm of your hand if you so wished it. Use your allure for sinister things.”</p><p>“I’m not unaware. I’m fairly certain you fell for that game, once.” </p><p>Bringing up the time after Will’s incarceration, before Abigail’s death, brings with it a light sting. Hannibal does not shy away from the topic, ever the one to relish a challenge.</p><p>“I <em> thought </em>you might have dressed up for my benefit,” he says complacently. “If you had not cut your hair the first time you returned to my office, I wouldn’t have suspected something was amiss.” </p><p>“You suspected right away?” Will asks, sliding on his coat.</p><p>“Yes, though I didn’t truly care to know what you were plotting at the time. I had other, more tantalizing, thoughts on my mind,” He says this close to Will’s ear, and Will can’t help but blush, fingers twitching at his sides. </p><p>“Oh,” he breathes out, vacantly aware of the ground beneath his feet. He feels light, like he can float away, thinking about the implications of what Hannibal said.</p><p>“Shall we go?” Hannibal asks once they are prepared. He juts out his arm, leaving Will room to loop his through. With only a mildly bashful hesitation, he does so, and allows Hannibal to lead him to the entrance of the Teatro Colón. It is extravagant, as expected. </p><p>They have arrived thirty minutes before seating begins, cutting it a bit close for Hannibal’s tastes, as he tells Will. Will arrives at events either five minutes early or five minutes late, so he doesn’t really see the problem. He’s just happy they have time to get a drink at the bar. </p><p>They both get two different champagnes. </p><p>“Can I try yours?” Will asks. Hannibal swaps their drinks, and then hooks their arms in front of them so they can sip like that, intertwined. It makes his cheeks rise with a smile, and he flushes from the gesture, until he hears a scoff from behind him. Not even sure if it is directed towards them, he unhooks his arm, and looks away from Hannibal. “I’m keeping yours.” </p><p>“I will keep yours, then.” </p><p>They mirror the crowds, sipping idly and chatting indistinctly about the opera. Will doesn’t dare do much else. He hadn’t realized he and Hannibal had been putting on such a physically intimate display, and wonders if it’s like that at home. He thinks back to all the gentle touches on his arms, his back, his neck and flushes hot once more. Perhaps, they should tone it down.</p><p>With his head inclined to Hannibal’s chest, as if it would obscure anyone’s view of his face, the thoughts that someone may recognize them seep into the forefront of his mind. </p><p>“You look like a lost little puppy,” Hannibal declares. </p><p>Will fumes, thoughts forgotten. </p><p>“Excuse me for not fitting in,” he bites out.</p><p>“With the pout too. Careful, I won’t be happy if someone tries to sweep you away.” </p><p>“I don’t pout,” Will snaps, and bumps into Hannibal’s chest as he says it. A man had rushed by him, eager to find the restroom, knocking into him as he went. He takes a step back, rigid from head to toe. Hannibal is grinning. </p><p>“I’m...I’m done.” Will hands him his empty glass. “We’re sitting down.”</p><p>Hannibal hands the glasses to the bartender, and pushes Will towards the doors of the theater, now open for seating. He had gotten them seats in the middle of the fifth row. A perfect view, and magnificent by every sense of the word. Will attempts not to let it charm him, though he’s already been charmed by Hannibal, time and time again. </p><p>“What’s this called again?”</p><p>“Dido and Aeneas.” </p><p>“Okie dokie,” Will mutters, plopping down in his designated seat. Hannibal formally sits beside him, crossing his legs and placing his folded coat over his lap. </p><p>Hannibal comes across jittery and he is bubbling with excitement. He is sincerely wrought with anticipation towards how Will is going to absorb this. He will tell Hannibal he liked it, even if he thinks otherwise. Perhaps he won’t give it a glowing review if he hates it, but he’ll certainly butter it up for Hannibal’s sake. He’s certain he hasn’t seen Hannibal this ecstatic since the first night they came here. Even then, those reactions had been subdued. </p><p>“Do we clap?” Will asks, suddenly feeling stupid. </p><p>“It is a debated opinion amongst opera goers–” Hannibal sees that Will has zero patience for his haranguing, so he cuts himself short. “Clap when I clap.” </p><p>“Alright.” </p><p>As more people begin to file in around them, and the lights begin to dim, Will sucks in a deep breath, and places his hand over Hannibal’s on the armrest. </p><p>“I’m excited,” he tells him genuinely. He is, even with the apprehension. </p><p>Hannibal’s expression melts with warmth, and he intertwines their hands in gratitude, bringing up Will’s hand so he can kiss his fingertips before letting his hand go. </p><p>Will blinks a few times in his shock, before turning towards the stage. He feels stiff and loose all at once, can feel Hannibal’s eyes burning a hole into his cheek, where a scar already made its home. He wants to tell him, <em> ‘You didn’t do that before, why do you do it now? </em>’ But, he can’t find the words. The opera begins in the next moment, loud music and bright lights. </p><p>Will doesn’t consider himself an artistic person. He can go along with the occasional allusion or reference a theatrical production he’d seen in his youth. He hadn’t been expecting to be genuinely moved by the opera, let alone moved to tears. He holds it together for most of the production. The singing and the instrumentals are beautiful, as are the set pieces. </p><p>During intermission, he stares at himself in the mirror and can hear the music reverberating in his ears. He’s entranced by each and every element. He looks at Hannibal during the second act, who seems just as enthralled, and Will wonders if he’s unknowingly empathizing with him or if he and Hannibal have crossed so many indwelling wires that they truly have become one person. </p><p>Tears fall from his eyes in one of the last few songs of the production, and he doesn’t notice them until he feels them drying on his cheeks, and hears the audience clapping. He slowly joins in, standing beside Hannibal. His eyes are fixed on where the curtains draw to a close. </p><p>In the car, Hannibal is shockingly quiet as Will rambles on about what he loved about the production. There is a smile plastered on Hannibal’s face the whole four hour drive back, and Will barely stops himself from waxing poetic. It’s fair to say it wouldn’t behoove him to take another eighteen hour drive out here again; it would be entirely worth every aspect. </p><p>He falls silent during the fourth hour of the drive. They are almost back to the hotel so they can rest up before driving back home tomorrow. Home. Even though it’s been barely two days, Will finds he misses it, the comfortable cozy feeling of their living room, seeing Hannibal in the kitchen every morning alongside the smell of juice and flour. </p><p>The realization stuns him so much he feels his heart skip a beat.</p><p>He’s become used to Hannibal, and yet Hannibal still makes his heart pound against his rib cage when he looks at him a certain way. He still makes Will’s gut tingle with bloodlust. </p><p>“Hannibal,” he says in a whisper, unsure if Hannibal will hear him. </p><p>A sharp sense of smell doesn’t always include a sharp sense of hearing. </p><p>He does hear him, loud and clear apparently. </p><p>“What is on your mind, Will?” He asks, voice still warm and jubilant. </p><p>Will takes a moment to find his voice where it’s buried deep in his throat. Several thoughts are swimming around in his head, almost indistinguishable, but he channels them into somewhat of a coherent stream of consciousness. </p><p>“When I first woke up after the fall, I instantly thought I was in purgatory. Doomed to keep living the same fate, fighting with you, me killing you, you killing me. Push and pull, until we do it all over again, and I wake up in the same purgatory because God doesn’t know what else to do with me.” Will doesn’t believe in God, and he’s certain Hannibal doesn’t either. Not truly; if God were real, he would be cruel as much as he would be terrific, the exact type of creature who would keep Will chained to this post, unable to free himself without destroying himself. </p><p>“You’ve changed your mind?” Hannibal asks, no inflection in his words.</p><p>“It was the night after I woke up. I changed my mind when I saw your face, laying beside me on the boat. It was the same feeling I had when I called you years ago, unsure of what to say. When I heard your voice, that’s when I decided to tell you they knew, that Jack was coming,” Will’s voice stays consistently quiet, as if something will break between them if he speaks louder. </p><p>“What did you feel when you saw my face?”</p><p>“I can’t put a name to the feeling, but I was sure. When I felt it, I was sure I was where I was supposed to be. I still am.”</p><p>Hannibal is remarkably silent, and when Will forces himself to face him, he can see his eyes glistening where they watch the road ahead. He wants to put a hand on his on the wheel, but it feels out of place. He doesn’t want to startle him. </p><p>If he had to put a name to the feeling, he knows what he would have to say. It is the only word that comes to mind, and the one he valiantly tries to bury for his own remaining shred of sanity. It is not something he can face in the dark of the night at this very moment; he does not want to change the mutually satisfactory air between them. Perfect moments rarely come for either of them. Looking at the curve of Hannibal’s jaw, and his hair styled and gelled handsomely, the glimmer in his eyes that depicts he is irreverently pleased, Will cannot recall a more perfect moment than right now, other than the bluff. </p><p>In their memory palaces, they will always have this night to remember. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>honestly the Teatro Colón should sponsor me for having it appear in so many of my hannigram fics, ngl. in all seriousness though, i am so very excited to continue this story, i have so many spicy and beautifully tragic things ahead.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“The wings shone with broken shards of black glass.” Will deliberates. “The bottom half of his body which was ensnared with the thin ropes, I covered in snails.” </p><p>Hannibal takes time to draw this perfectly.  </p><p>“Echoes of the dragon resonated within you before his becoming. As if fate and circumstance were sending you signs in the form of your own design,” Hannibal tells him.</p><p>Will is not sure how he feels about this. He doesn’t have fuzzy feelings for the Dragon like Hannibal does. He had been integral to the beauty of Will and Hannibal’s mutual becoming, but he doesn’t quite approve of the implication he had been unknowingly copycatting him. </p><p>He doesn’t add fuel to the conversation, letting it die like the embers in their fireplace. He continues to describe the proportions of the glass shards, a variety of shapes and sizes.</p><p>Hannibal has been sketching the firefly for an hour, luxuriating on the detail. Will wishes he could watch his process, but Hannibal had told him that he could create a more accurate depiction of the man’s corpse this way, allowing himself to listen to Will’s descriptions only and to not be corrected. </p><p>Will knows Hannibal is just a stodgy artist, dedicated to his technique.</p><p>“Glass and mirrors are often used in the creations of psychopaths and sociopaths to represent a reflection of themselves, or as a manifestation of their own unhappiness towards what they outwardly project into the world,” Will says in a low voice, picking at his nails. </p><p>“You are not a psychopath,” Hannibal muses, looking up once with raised brows, before thoughtfully turning his eyes back down towards the page. He huffs and erases a portion of his work, set on fixing it. </p><p>“I can appreciate the chimera that accompanies psychopathic creation.” </p><p>Hannibal hums, but does not rhapsodize about the beauty of macabre design as he normally might have, taking a once over of his sketchbook and letting go of a deep sigh. </p><p>“Perhaps, I will ask you to describe the colors, to bring more life to this piece one day. For now, I believe I am satisfied with the end result. Would you care to take a look?” Hannibal pats the space on the couch beside him, and Will hears his own bones creak as he hops up from the adjacent couch too fast, plopping down beside him. </p><p>He takes the sketchbook in his hands, and gasps. </p><p>It isn’t entirely factual, of course. Will is not skilled at specific descriptions. However, Hannibal had managed to capture the form, the shadows, the lights that shine off the glass beautifully. He feels the facade of Lithuania around him, almost able to feel the dead grass of the Lecter estate under his toes. The face of the fire fly man is the most accurate of all, so much so that Will is forced to wonder if the man’s face has been seared into Hannibal’s mind since childhood.</p><p>The man’s eyes are closed, and if Will were ignorant of what this was, he would know instantly that the man is nothing more than a lifeless corpse. </p><p>“I nearly got chills,” Will mutters, handing the sketchbook back. “You might as well have been there with me.” </p><p>At this, Hannibal is content as a plump cat might be after a meal. He folds the book closed and places it on the coffee table in front of them. Will tries to shelf away the screaming memories of his trip to Lithuania. The catacombs in Italy. The broken heart made of torn flesh and ligaments, turned inside out with grief. </p><p>It is difficult, for three years those memories had been all he had. As often as he tried to convince himself that it hadn’t mattered, he would wake up beside Molly feeling the vibrations of the church bells that played throughout the Palazzo dei Normanni. </p><p>Will is just starting to think about how the repetition and litany of chores and routines of their extended stay here is beginning to become an almost unbearably shrieking white noise in his ears when Hannibal clears his throat and turns to him with sudden urgence.</p><p>“I have a proposition for you, Will.”</p><p>“Okay,” he says warily, and then with a shred of hope, “Is it dangerous?”</p><p>“Could be.” The right corner of Hannibal’s lips turn up, and he stands, strolling over to a work desk that he sits in to write occasionally. He opens a drawer and takes out a red folder. “It will be as dangerous as you want it to be.”</p><p>“What makes you think I’ll agree?” he quips with a flashing grin. </p><p>Hannibal sits down, eyes on him in an intense gaze as he hands him the folder. “I have been thinking your mind has become a tad under-stimulated as of late. I thought this might re-energize your spirits. If I am mistaken, you may scold me.” </p><p>“This is…” Will’s eyes are wide as he flips through the papers inside. “Is this a profile?”</p><p>“A known criminal,” Hannibal clarifies “Amado Castillo. I could list the crimes he’s committed, if you would like to hear them from me, but I gathered all my intel in here.” He taps on a list next to a sketch of the man. “Only if you approve.”</p><p>Will stares at the sketch of the man, jealous Hannibal had spent the time to draw him.</p><p>“When did you have time to research all this?”</p><p>“My trips to the grocery store.” </p><p>“I should have known it wouldn’t take you five hours to buy fruits and vegetables,” Will says with a scoff, snapping the folder shut. “How long did this take you?”</p><p>“Two weeks.” Hannibal tilts his head, trying his damndest to read Will.</p><p>“I had no idea,” Will says faintly. He tosses the folder on top of Hannibal’s sketchbook, having no desire to take a look at it again. “No clue.”</p><p>“I did not want to bother you with the proposal before I confirmed the information I had gathered was accurate. I assumed you would approve of my choice considering his record. Will, it is of no importance if you do not. I can find another, or you can decide for yourself–”</p><p>Will puts up a hand. “Stop, I know what you intended. I can’t berate you for it, but I wish you would have told me.” </p><p>“I apologize, Will,” Hannibal says sincerely. </p><p>Will forces himself to look into his eyes, and only finds expectation. He wants to please Will, and he also wants to satisfy them both. More than anything, he wants to kill, Will can see it in every stiff muscle and every unsteady breath he takes.</p><p>“Hannibal, I need to do this with you, you can’t do this alone,” Will explains, gesturing to the folder. “I am with you now, I don’t want you skirting around me like you’re hiding something, or,” he takes a deep breath to get a firm hold on his rambling, “If you kill without me, I don’t know if I could handle it.” </p><p>“Will…” Hannibal trails off, rightfully speechless.</p><p>“Don’t hunt without me, don’t even think about it without me. I’ll go crazy.” Will lets out a jittery chuckle, tucking his chin at the absurdity of his own word choice. “Crazier than I already am.” </p><p>Hannibal brushes two fingers over his jaw, turning his chin up and to the side so they can make eye contact again. It feels like falling. </p><p>“If you are crazy, so am I,” is all Hannibal responds with. He presses the palm of his hand against Will’s cheek for only a moment before leaving him bereft of contact.</p><p>“I appreciate what you’ve done, though. I need you to know that,” Will reaffirms.</p><p>“I know you do. We will hunt together, and it will be beautiful.”</p><p>Will nods, and settles back into the squishy couch cushions. He lets out a soft sigh, fingers scratching the fabric of the couch as he thinks to himself.</p><p>"I want you to show me how you do it. Down to the nanosecond, I want to see your process. How you find the people you kill, what makes you decide."</p><p>"Rude people often come to me. However, we are in a different situation now. Not many people will be coming to either of us in this isolation." Hannibal gestures to their house, gorgeously dislocated from any community. Will prefers it this way, but Hannibal is right.</p><p>"Then we will find places to go. To find someone worthy of our design," Will mumbles darkly. </p><p>Hannibal cocks his head, "You would be amenable to killing an innocent person?"</p><p>"If there is no good and evil, there is no innocence. Only rude and not rude."</p><p>Will blissfully watches the gears turn in Hannibal's head. Will is opening doors and possibilities he had not yet thought possible. Amada Castillo had been a known criminal, because Hannibal had thought he was all Will would be comfortable acting upon. Killing an openly amoral human being is easier to defend than someone who might have stepped on your toes wrong. </p><p>"You have no apprehension killing someone for pure misbehavior?" Hannibal clarifies.</p><p>Will smirks. "Whenever feasible, one should always try to eat the rude."</p><p>"Free range rude," Hannibal responds fondly.</p><p>Will kicks his foot with his. </p><p>Hannibal gets up to pour them drinks, red wine, Will's favorite for evenings such as these. They haven't yet had an in depth talk about hunts, killings, or anything of the sort. They haven't been avoiding it, but it has both been in the back of their minds for a while now. A month has passed, nearly two. It is time to face their hunger.</p><p>"I want you to burn this folder," Will tells him when he has his wine glass in hand. "It is too staged. There shouldn't be planning between us, at least not enough to sour the hunt. It should be as raw as the Dragon's downfall was. Animalistic and lacking precision. No folders. No intel. The experience should be gratifying, and harder for Jack to see through." He drinks nearly half his glass in only a few seconds. Hannibal takes it from him and places it on the coffee table, to assist in his pacing. More like <em> control </em>his pacing, but Will won’t admit that. </p><p>"You're right about Jack. It shouldn't be extravagant. But, I want us to delight in the carnage. To see you drenched in blood once more would be a privilege," Hannibal says.</p><p>"Oh, we'll delight."</p><p>"It can be tedious work. Hunting," Hannibal reminds, one last time. He does not want Will to become agitated if they do not find a suitable subject the first night they venture into town, a doting partner in crime. "It should all be beautiful."</p><p>"It isn't worth it to me if I stay home like a housewife while you prowl around like a mateless hound," Will nearly snarls as he says it, sipping sharply at the wine he's picked back up.</p><p>"Then we will do whatever satisfies your needs, Will." </p><p>Will's eyes flick over to Hannibal who is looking at him with a cruelly handsome, devious stretch of lips. Behind those carnivore’s eyelashes, his gaze is dark and unrelenting, and it makes Will swallow hard, and curl his fingers tighter around his glass.</p><p>“We’ll start tomorrow night,” Will whispers. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“We’re obviously doing something wrong,” Will says, and chucks his coat over the back of their couch. He paces the living room with a hand on his hip in deep thought. </p><p>“We have only been attempting this for two nights,” Hannibal comforts him. “It is alright we have not found anyone suitable, any <em> place </em>suitable I should say.” </p><p>“The place. That’s it.” Will clasps his hands together. “It’s the place. We need to go somewhere different. We can’t expect the rude to flock in our direction in the same places they used to in America. This is a different country. We need to go somewhere out of your element.” </p><p>Hannibal raises a brow. “Out of <em> our </em>element?” </p><p>“Out of yours,” Will corrects. “I don’t have a specific element. I have the gift of acclimation.” </p><p>Hannibal seems uncertain, so Will stops pacing and walks closer to him, so he can assure him with his eyes. “That club near the corner market.” </p><p>“You want to go there?” Hannibal can’t keep his distaste from the punctuation of the last word and it makes Will smile wide. </p><p>“There are no security cameras in that place. I’ve done a bit of digging.”</p><p>“Are you sure?” </p><p>“Trust me, in that sort of dive, it’d be shocking if we don’t find what we’re looking for. Just for one night. It’ll be fun, like, being in disguise. We’ll need to fully transform to snatch a catch.” Will’s fingers bend enticingly over the collar of Hannibal’s shirt, and his voice lowers an octave. “I could say please.” </p><p>Hannibal doesn’t need further convincing.</p><p>“I told you whatever would satisfy your needs.” </p><p>“We’ll need to dress differently,” Will insists, observing Hannibal’s current outfit. Even for casual, it is an expensive button-up with tailored pants and cufflinks. “Show me your wardrobe.” </p><p>“Of course.” </p><p>Hannibal leads Will to his room, and Will subtly takes in the surroundings as Hannibal opens his drawers and digs through the underused garments. He hasn’t been in here since the first day, and it smells like Hannibal now. Rich and dignified. The bed is made, and yet he can see where the pillowcases crinkle with use. It makes him feel a surge of warmth in his gut. </p><p>“I don’t have much in the way of shirts,” Hannibal says. Will knows he means he does not have a t-shirt. Has never even touched a t-shirt, probably. </p><p>“I have a baggy orange one you can use. Do you have a jacket you wouldn’t normally use?” </p><p>Hannibal scrutinizes his closet, and brings out a leather jacket after a few moments. Will instantly imagine it on him, hugging his toned biceps, smelling of musky hide. The thoughts intoxicate him, envelop him so instantaneously he nearly loses his footing.</p><p>“Does this work?” He asks obliviously. </p><p>Will struggles to clear his instantly dry throat. “Yeah. Yeah, that’ll work.” </p><p>“Do you need me to help you pick out an outfit?” </p><p>“I’ll surprise you,” Will replies with a smirk. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Will adorns himself in a black button up, with only two buttons pulled together at the base of the shirt. The rest hangs open, exposing the smooth expanse of his chest. He’s been told this is the most attractive part of his body, by a few girlfriends he’s been with in the past. Molly told him she prefers a hairy chest, but still loved him the way he was. </p><p>He pairs the shirt with slender white pants, that wrap tightly around his legs. He hasn’t worn pants this tight since college, and he hadn’t been happy about it then, just as he isn’t exactly happy about it now. Not until he sees the look on Hannibal’s face. </p><p>Hannibal isn’t shy about eyeing him. His eyes are dark as he takes in every inch of Will from head to toe. Will feels drunk on the power he wields in this moment. </p><p>“Are you ready to go?” He asks in a playful tone. “Or do you need a minute?” </p><p>“What?” Hannibal asks, shaken from his thoughts. </p><p>“Do I beguile you, Doctor?” Will stretches his back, cracking a few muscles. He groans pleasantly, feeling revitalized. It might be a bit of a show for Hannibal. It isn’t every day he dresses like this; the facade of a sex-driven man who misses his frat house glory days.</p><p>“You know you do,” Hannibal says finally, and Will chooses to ignore it.</p><p>“For men both past the age of forty, we don’t look half bad,” he admits, eyeing Hannibal’s outfit right back. It is jarring to see him in a baggy orange t-shirt, and jeans no less. It is surprisingly becoming of him, especially the leather jacket that accompanies it. </p><p>“We practice a fair amount of exercise and personal hygiene.”</p><p>Will points at him. “See, if you keep talking like that, no one’s going to talk to you at the club. Also, what the hell did you do to your hair?” </p><p>It looks like he used gel. He steps closer and reaches a hand up. When brushing through it does little to mend it into disarray, he shakes it up very fast. Now it looks like he’d just been shoved against a wall and kissed breathless with his hair fallen like that. </p><p>Will's face feels hot so he turns back towards the coffee table, eyes flickering around frantically for anything to focus on other than him. He picks up a small dagger Hannibal had bought a week earlier during one of his runs and slips it into his sock. </p><p>Hannibal shows no outward sign that he wants to fix his hair, and it makes Will feel a little bit too giddy, rolling up on his heels as he waits patiently for Hannibal to gather his things, and then he follows him out to the car. It is a warm night. </p><p>Will opens the window in the car so he can feel the breeze on his face as they drive into the city. He’s not sure if it’s his empathic abilities at play, but he can feel himself settling more into the role of a man willing to put his body on display. He wonders what prey they will manage to hook tonight, how much integration it will take to find the right person to quench their bloodthirst.</p><p>The city lights seem brighter tonight. Wilder.</p><p>They pull down far away from the club, picking a secluded parking spot for discretion. It is the weekend, so guests are practically climbing the walls of the club. The music is loud, just as the opera had been, but it focuses more on beats and unintelligible lyrics with expletives mixed in. The exact type of place that would make Hannibal Lecter bodily cringe. He remains remarkably stoic at Will’s side, taking in the place with narrowed eyes and a contemplative glare. </p><p>“Loosen up,” Will says in his ear. It is hard to hear past the shouting and stereos. </p><p>Hannibal doesn’t loosen up, even tenses up more in the face of Will’s order. </p><p>They slide up to an empty space at the bar and Will orders them two shots of tequila. Hannibal gives him a dirty look then, but Will pays it no mind. He downs his, and hands the other to Hannibal who downs it with minor reluctance. </p><p>They scan the patrons at the bar, their eyes slowly moving in unison to the people on the dance floor, tearing it up with drunken moves and idiotic swaying. Will laughs, and it goes unheard. </p><p>Hannibal leans down towards his ear, his voice edging on too loud. “Perhaps this venue is a bit too much of what we’re looking for.” </p><p>Will shakes his head, determined this is a good start. </p><p>Someone large and beastly looking bumps into Hannibal, and the guy grumbles an apologetic “Sorry.” Hannibal responds with a pathetic, “Pardon me,” and scoots closer to Will to avoid the traffic of people in the sea surrounding them.</p><p>“Christ,” Will declares to the ceiling. “You suck at blending in.” </p><p>“This is not my forte.” </p><p>“More like you’ve never hunted properly,” Will lowers his voice when he realizes he’s shouting. “I thought you’d had years of experience. Where’s that practiced ease of yours?”</p><p>“You chose this spot not me,” Hannibal says down at him, eyes sparkling perilously. “Why don’t you show me how you would go about our pressing task?” </p><p>Will licks his lips, tasting the sharp remnants of tequila. He’s been in similar places, with not as much ferocious nightlife, but enough so he could lure in a mindless one night stand or two. If Hannibal needs to see how it is done, he supposes he can prowl for the both of them. </p><p>“In clubs like these, men are more often than not trying to stake their claim on women. Perhaps, someone will get handsy for one if I egg them on enough.” Hannibal stares at him confused, and doesn’t have the opportunity to ask Will what he means until Will is slithering into the crowd, on high alert. It isn’t hard to get women to look at him. He’s seen looks from his college students, and co-workers. He knows what they see in him, so he sets his sight on a short, blonde woman who is looking him up and down with an easy expression.</p><p>She speaks English, fortunately. Not that it will  matter much considering the volume of the music, and the fact they are mostly using body language. </p><p>She is a bottle blonde, already not his type, but he knows she’ll be the type of brute men, rude men who might see a thin, not so burly man such as himself as a threat and wish to come to her rescue. So they can feel more masculine. It may be the perfect bait. Hannibal should be proud. </p><p>He is keenly aware of Hannibal watching him from the bar, elbows on the counter as he stares at Will slowly coaxing the woman into an intimate dance. With impeccable timing, the beat picks up into something more exotic and rhythmic and the girl becomes more feisty. </p><p>Will focuses on the dancing individuals around them, trying to catch the eye of any of the men standing lonely towards the edge of the dance floor. One good challenging glare could entice one of them over the edge. All he’d have to do would be avoid getting punched, bring the fight out the back alley where he and Hannibal can strike triumphantly. </p><p>The thrilling thought of the kill gets him slightly hard, the girl grinding her ass into his cock doing nothing to temper the feeling. </p><p>She leans up, her back against him so their full bodies are pressed together, and he makes eye contact with Hannibal then. His head is tilted down, shadows on his face, a menacing display. Perhaps it is the drink that gives him the confidence to maintain this eye contact as he runs a hand up the woman’s arm, clasping his fingers against her throat when he reaches it.</p><p>He doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t do more than place his hand there, but he can practically feel the fire in Hannibal’s eyes. It is singularly erotic, and Will’s cock feels harder than it’s been in years. </p><p>The woman spins around, catching his attention again and starts kissing him sloppily. He tries to pull back, but she’s like a leech, relentless and sticky where her cheap makeup hasn’t dried. He’s fairly certain she’s wearing a spray tan one shade too dark for her actual skin tone. </p><p>When he prys himself away, he looks up to find Hannibal absent from the bar. He ignores the pawing of the woman as he lifts up on his toes, searching over the heads of the crowd. He is fairly certain he hears the back door slam shut, so he abandons the girl on the dance floor, not even sparing her a glance as he disappears through the cluster of gyrating bodies. </p><p>When he squeezes his way out the door into the back alley, he finds Hannibal with his hands gloved and in his pockets. “What are you doing?” He asks, bewildered.</p><p>“Wait,” is all Hannibal says to him. His eyes are dark, and his nostrils flare in intervals. Will is surprised that he is quick to obey him, barely faltering under his heavy stare. </p><p>After about thirty seconds, the door to the back alley is opened and the small bottle blond bustles out between them. “Hey what gives?” she caws. Her voice hadn’t been nearly as grating accompanied by the screaming music. </p><p>Before Will can say anything, Hannibal grabs her arm and tugs her close to him, a hand closing over her throat. “Scream and I squeeze,” he swiftly mutters into her ear. </p><p>“Hannibal,” Will warns, but Hannibal squeezes once and the girl squeaks, eyes wide and pleading. Her fingers shake where they rest against Hannibal’s forearm.</p><p>Will knows what this means. They will have to kill her. If they spare her life now, she will talk, and they’ll have to flee the country. They haven’t been here nearly long enough to be ready to do that. Will watches Hannibal carefully, not taking his eyes off of Hannibal’s golden ones.</p><p>“You think you’re prepared, Will, but how can you be? I can see the hesitation in your eyes, I can smell it on you,” Hannibal states. “Who were you hunting for, was it this rube?” </p><p>The blond girl is whimpering, eyes blank except for the flare of morbid fear.</p><p>“She wasn’t rude,” Will says.</p><p>“Wasn’t she?” </p><p>Will narrows his eyes, disbelieving what he is hearing. Jealousy? Is that what this is? </p><p>“Geez, Doctor Lecter, I didn’t think you could stoop this low,” Will muses, not breaking their eye contact. The label of Hannibal’s name is punctuated, an added assurance that this woman must die. She knows his real name now. If she weren’t preoccupied with her own impending death, Will might have enjoyed seeing the recognition of the name on her face. </p><p>“There are different levels of rude,” Hannibal explains. “Will, you will find in a life of sporadic killing, the lines between any sort of classification grey. I’ve killed innocent people as well as rude people, those people can also be considered guilty and polite by another person’s moral standards. Will you condemn me still for my actions?”</p><p>Hannibal begins to squeeze in earnest, and the girl breaks her vow of silence, attempting to scream behind his grip. It is too late, and she is unable to get anything out other than a few gasps and broken sobs. Hannibal’s head tilts down and he continues to look at Will through the strands of his mussed hair, almost in a dare. </p><p>He is testing Will, to see if he will save the young woman. </p><p>Will steps closer, close enough so the woman can grip at his shirt, clawing at his bared skin in her final breaths. Her eyes roll back into her skull as her skin turns purple. Will watches her now, as her head falls limp against Hannibal’s chest, rolling forward then as she becomes vacant. </p><p>Hannibal drops her to the floor, watches with dark eyes as Will slides his fingers through the cuts she made in his chest, bringing his own blood to his lips.</p><p>“Want a taste?” He asks Hannibal, determined to show off his resolve. </p><p>Hannibal looks drugged, like he might just collapse into Will and devour him whole, but he takes a step back instead. Will almost wants to tell him to come closer, wanting to be ravished. Perhaps the timing is wrong; his timidity is returning to him full force, and he lowers his hand from his lips, staring down at the body with curiosity. </p><p>“Someone will come around here sooner or later,” Hannibal says. </p><p>“Wait,” Will responds, taking the knife from his pocket. He leans down and slices into her gut, like he would a fish. “Which organs do you want?” </p><p>He looks up at Hannibal expectantly and finds only adoration. He smiles and adds, “We don’t have all day here. Come on.”</p><p>“Kidneys and lungs.” </p><p>“Open your bag.” Will begins to cut them out of her body, quick and efficient. He slides them into Hannibal’s satchel, wincing when he realizes they don’t have any plastic bags to place them in. The drive back to their house is a short one, anyway. Hannibal can always clean the meat. </p><p>The ride home is silent. The tension between them is still heated and palpable.</p><p>Will shifts in his seat, feeling the cuts on his sternum sting where blood has dried. It smarts in every position he sits in, and he decides to give up on finding a comfortable spot. </p><p>Twenty minutes starts to feel like two hours, especially with the scent of Hannibal’s cologne and the woman’s blood mingling in the air, making him feel heady. </p><p>At home, Hannibal sets to work cleaning the organs for use. It is too late for dinner, but he is able to store them away in the fridge for tomorrow or another day. Will awkwardly stands around in the kitchen, watching him work, and feels like his clothes don’t quite fit anymore. </p><p>When he thinks they are going to depart for the night, Hannibal sidles up in front of him and begins working on cleansing his chest with a warm cloth. Will tuts, almost leaning back from the contact. It feels too charged in the quiet homey atmosphere of their kitchen, but the movements of Hannibal’s healing hands are soothing and the cuts don’t sting any longer. </p><p>There is a dull ache, not dissimilar to an old bruise. Will is mesmerized by the sight of his blood seeping into the wet cloth, until his chest is relatively clean and bare once more. </p><p>“You should disinfect,” Hannibal says softly, all his gusto from before completely drained.</p><p>Will nods curtly, once, before heading towards his room. As he strips, he watches Hannibal from in front of his bureau. His door is cracked open, just enough to see Hannibal stride into his bedroom, his hands swinging at his sides. Will remembers clearly how strong those hands had been wrapped around that mousy woman’s throat.</p><p>She couldn’t get more than two or three gasps in, as they squeezed and squeezed, hard and without effort like she was a fruit or one of Winston’s old dog toys. </p><p>Will shudders and closes his door fully.</p><p>While he lies in bed that night, he stares at his closed door, wonders what Hannibal’s door looks like across the hall. Is it shut, or has he left it open for Will to see in if he so desires? To join him, even. </p><p>The memory of Hannibal suffocating a person imprints itself in his memory palace in his sleep, it is the last thing he thinks of when he falls asleep, and the first thing he thinks of when he wakes.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>you know i don't know how police shit works so there's probably dna at the crime scene or whatever, but nbc hannibal doesn't know how police shit works either so i'm cutting myself some slack. hope you enjoyed! hope it's getting spicy! love me some slowburn, but they'll be gay soon no worries xoxo</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I’ve never seen you suffocate anyone before. I’ve pictured it, with Beverly, with Miriam Lass. I pictured it, but seeing it firsthand felt so different,” Will remarks. </p><p>“You’ve seen me kill before,” Hannibal responds, pouring orange juice into Will’s cup over his shoulder. He had made them a light breakfast of french toast and peach slices. There is a small mug of syrup in the middle of the table in placement of a vase. </p><p>“Yes, and I’ve seen you do it intimately. It is always a dance of the bodies with you. You are never disconnected from a kill, but seeing you kill with your hands, and only your hands, it was…” Will feels hot under Hannibal’s gaze, losing track of his thoughts. </p><p>“It felt like the Dragon,” Hannibal finishes for him. </p><p>“You used your teeth then,” Will reflects, mouthing around a slice of peach.</p><p>“What do you prefer? Strangulation or ripping a person’s throat open with teeth?” </p><p>“God, Hannibal,” Will mutters, not because he is affronted by the question, but because it is so early. This question is made for late night hours when Will is not hyper focused on making the right decisions, when he might be prodded into admitting his desires. “I’m not sure.”</p><p>“You remember your dreams, do you not?” Hannibal asks, sliding easily into a seperate on-topic question. “The ones where you fantasized about killing me?”</p><p>Will stares at him from across the table, allowing himself to remember clearly the faded images of his house in wolftrap, Hannibal pinned beneath him on the floor as he took his fists with a grin spread bloody and wide on his face. He gives a solemn nod.</p><p>“You told me you would do it with your hands,” Hannibal recalls. “I wonder if you have an affinity for murder involving physical contact because of these fantasies.”</p><p>“They are the most visceral fantasies I’ve ever had.” Will gazes down at his juice, untouched. He is not sure he could bear the tang of it quite yet. “You were powerless.”</p><p>“Did you strangle me?”</p><p>“I hit you.” Will twists over his words bitterly. “You were beneath me and I beat you to a near pulp. There was blood everywhere, on my hands, on you. On <em> him</em>.” </p><p>He remembers Randall then, almost disappointed that it had been just that; a fantasy. He wonders if Randall saw Hannibal in his eyes when his fists connected with his jaw, if he saw the intent in the way he violently snapped his neck. He looks up at Hannibal once more to find him tender, adoring of Will’s darker side. It makes his stomach churn, but not uncomfortably. </p><p>“Do you have these urges still?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“To hurt me,” Hannibal clarifies. “To kill me, even.”</p><p>“No,” Will says immediately. “I don't want to kill you.”</p><p>“I would not judge you if that were the case. If you wanted me truly dead, I am sure I would be that right now.” Hannibal cuts a piece of his french toast and pops it into his mouth. He smiles, closed-mouthed at Will as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.</p><p>“What I feel towards you has the same volume as the desire to kill. But, my thoughts are no longer violent,” Will says in a small voice, vulnerable in the face of Hannibal’s nerve-wracking scrutiny. He is sure Hannibal can surmise precisely what he means, and yet he does not take the bait. He taps his fingers against the table top, and his head tilts down imperceptibly, as if to say ‘<em> clever boy</em>.’</p><p>“Tell me one thing, Will,” Hannibal demands after he swallows. “My death in your dream,” his eyes glisten as he continues, “Was it beautiful?” </p><p>“It always is,” Will responds breathlessly. </p><p>They two of them gaze fondly at each other, and Will can hear the birds outside singing their morning songs. All is well, and that is worrying. Will wonders how long this peace can last. Not between them, but between them and the world. </p><p>“Can we take a walk after breakfast?” Will asks. “Together.”</p><p>“Of course.” Hannibal rolls his head to one side, intrigued. “We shall travel around the lake.” </p><p>Will smiles. “I’d like that.”</p><p>The lake by their house is large, extending so far that one could feasibly suggest building a bridge to cut across. Will has no qualms with circling it on foot, it is good exercise after all. And Hannibal’s company is always welcome after so many years without. </p><p>The thought of being captured and separated from him again leaves an ice cold, empty feeling in his stomach that he strives to avoid. He considers himself stable, more stable than he ever was, though he knows old friends would disagree. However, if Hannibal were taken from him, he would become unhinged. He knows his darker self, that trembling man who could snap at any given notice. That had been the man who had married Molly, who had visited Hannibal in his glass cage, always moments from slipping, from <em> becoming </em>. </p><p>As much as he despises the thoughts, they come to him when he feels his best. When Hannibal looks at him with one of those smug expressions that makes his gut twist with ice hot jitters. He finds it funny those concerns should cross his mind when he finds peace with Hannibal, and not when they are killing, or when they are at a crossroads.</p><p>They have been walking in silence for too long. </p><p>“Hannibal, we will have to leave this country at one point, won’t we?” He asks, kicking a rock in their path. He watches it disappear into a pile of leaves.</p><p>“One far off day, if we are discreet. If we are not, perhaps sooner. I do not believe we will need to worry about that for years to come, Will.”</p><p>Hannibal turns to him then, concern etched into his face. “Are you worried?” </p><p>Will shakes his head. “Not worried most of the time. I occasionally get glimpses of something resembling anxiety towards our situation. I don’t want to be caught.” </p><p>“I am expert in this life, Will, you needn’t worry. I had never been caught until three years ago. And that was by choice, if you recall.” </p><p>“You’re internationally recognized. This isn’t Italy and you aren’t Il Mostro any longer. Are you sure that there is no room for error?” </p><p>Hannibal stops walking and Will comes to a stop beside him, gaze flitting to the trees behind him to avoid the impending motherly stare. He sighs. </p><p>“Listen, I don’t think about it that much, it’s just this morning it’s been on my mind a lot, that’s all.” Hannibal raises his brows as if to disagree and Will grumbles. “We weren’t exactly discreet last night. I, well, I don’t want my time with you to be cut short because of some bar room ditz.” </p><p>Hannibal grins. “I would not allow that to happen.”</p><p>“Yeah, but–"</p><p>He steps closer and gathers Will’s hands in his own. Will looks down at where they make contact, and his lips part, remotely stunned by how easily it calms him. </p><p>“Trust me, Will. As foolish as that notion may seem. I need you to trust me.”</p><p>“I trust you,” Will responds quietly. </p><p>They continue walking, and Will wants to reach between them to take one of Hannibal’s hands again, but he decides against it. Two grown men strolling through the woods and holding hands doesn’t sit well in his mind, like a bad aftertaste. He’s not sure if that is because of how he grew up, learning about social norms and gender roles in a strict, conservative, southern town, or because he is nervous about any type of contact with Hannibal.</p><p>Hannibal is in love with him, and Will still can’t answer Bedelia’s question. </p><p>It is a saving grace when Hannibal speaks, breaking through his thought pattern. </p><p>“There will be warning signs, loud and clear that will tell us it is time to move from this place. When that happens, we will move to a new country, start a new life. It will be simple. There are many countries, towns, and cities I wish to share with you. I hope to be able to do so for years to come, and I am determined to disallow anything to come between me and that goal. Do you understand?” He says this with a veteran’s confidence. </p><p>A veteran in the art of killing, anyway. Will nods, because he does understand.</p><p>“I’ve been hesitant to do much in the way of settling down,” Will admits, diffidently. “I keep feeling as if we’ll be forced to leave today or tomorrow. Yet, I feel as if it were my home. At the opera, I kept thinking about how comfortable it would be when we got <em> home </em>. It’s a strange feeling, I haven’t really felt at home anywhere, for a long time. Perhaps I should start to learn the language.” His heart thumps loud when he hears Hannibal’s responding laugh.</p><p>“You do not need to learn the language. As long as I am with you, you will have nothing to worry about in that sense. We’ll be in so many countries all at once, by the time you become fluent in one, I believe you’ll be mad at yourself for wasting so much time only to be forced to start learning another.” Hannibal pauses and adds in a sly voice, “Perhaps phrases like hello and goodbye may come in handy, however.”</p><p>“Hey, I know some words,” Will exclaims. “Stop looking at me like that, you know I do!”</p><p>“I will not dignify that claim with a response,” Hannibal says. </p><p>Will shoves at him and Hannibal nearly trips, eyes wide and challenging. </p><p>“Do you wish to roughhouse, Will?” He goads.</p><p>Will grins up to his ears, the image of them roughhousing too hilarious to take seriously. “I’d take you down in an instant, old man. I owned several dogs, if you recall.” </p><p>Hannibal’s eyes darken. “Be careful what you boast.” </p><p>“Perhaps another time,” Will says, voice slick with promise. They are fooling around, sure, but a part of Will wonders if there is some truth behind it. Could he even overpower Hannibal? He’s not sure himself, but a part of him wants to find out and this truth sets his nerves alight. </p><p>After a few steps of crackling electricity between them which quickly diminishes and evaporates into the calming noises of chirping birds and running water, Hannibal speaks once more, this time softer and serene. </p><p>“If you wish to find a way to settle in, as you say, you may try gardening. I could use the fruits and vegetables you choose in my recipes. It may be a good way to ground yourself.” </p><p>“You’re sick of driving to the grocery store,” Will snarks, but he finds the idea compelling. “Yeah, maybe I’ll try that. I’m growing attached to this place.” </p><p>“Speaking of the grocery store, I must take a trip this afternoon. Is there anything you would like while I’m out?” Hannibal takes out a small notepad from his pocket, a pencil from the other. Will has to hold back a laugh by biting his tongue. </p><p>“Um, maybe some seeds for the garden, and…” Will scratches his beard, taking a moment to think, and then feels heat rise to his cheeks. “Actually, could I join you?”</p><p>Hannibal’s forehead creases in surprise. “I would be delighted,” he replies, tucking his notepad away. </p><p>Will blushes deeper, and bites at his lip. He’s wanted to join Hannibal for a while, and after last night, he needs a little domesticity in his life. Food shopping, produce, a bakery, even. He could really go for some microwavable lunches, not that he’d admit it to Hannibal. </p><p>For now.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It turns out the store is a little more intense than he anticipated. With their disguises at the nightclub, he had felt as if he blended into the crowd. In the fluorescent lighting of the grocery store, in a blue button up and jeans, he feels more exposed than ever.</p><p>There are men and women rolling carts back and forth on either side of them as Hannibal checks his list in the middle of the aisle. This results in wheels squeaking ceaselessly from all around. Will feels like an elephant on an ant hill, and he shifts clumsily as people continue to squeeze by him. He mutters apologies in English, pissed off he can’t remember a single Spanish apology. </p><p>“Can we get out of the way a bit?” Will suggests belatedly after a man bumps into him. Hannibal looks up at him, puzzled, as if he has no clue they’re standing in the middle of traffic. </p><p>“Here,” Hannibal digs into his pocket and hands him a wad of cash. “Buy anything you want and meet me back here at three. Does that sound good?”</p><p>Will gawks at him, clutching over a hundred dollars in his hand. Hannibal seems to take this as an agreement, vanishing down the aisle with the cart, his eyes attached to his list. Will is left with nothing except the money and his dwindling dignity.</p><p>He had assumed they would shop together, and can’t ignore the pounding disappointment in his chest. He moves swiftly out of the way of the barreling customers, hiding behind some clothing racks as he tries to navigate himself in this foreign store. <em> Cart </em>. The first step is getting a cart. He finds one of the small hand held ones at the front of the store, and checks his watch far too soon. He has two hours. He has no idea what he wants to buy and he has two hours. </p><p>He tucks the money into his front pocket, and feels it like an anchor. He’s not sure he’s ever had over twenty dollars in one hand before. It is almost frightening, like carrying a baby in your arms, worried if you slip you’ll be on someone’s blacklist. </p><p>Will’s nerves settle down when he reaches the cosmetic and personal hygiene portion of the store. It is similar to any other store he’s been in, just with more labels in Spanish than in English. He even finds English descriptions on various shampoos and conditioners he picks up. Hannibal keeps the house stocked with most things, but he’s been missing his aspirins and advils. He spots a bottle of Tums and wonders if Hannibal would criticize him for using those. He has to admit, he pictures Hannibal using only high end medications or medications he fabricates in the kitchen with gingers and bay leaves that he bought from a witch doctor. </p><p>He is just about to depart from the aisle he is in, when he spots it.</p><p>An enormous wall of condoms, staring at him head on. His throat feels tight as his eyes flutter over all the different sizes, types, <em> flavors </em>. He thinks about it, because his mind is incapable of thinking of anything else. He thinks about if he’ll ever need them. If he should dare put a box in his basket. What would Hannibal say if he saw them in there? It is more likely Hannibal already has the house stocked with them somewhere, perhaps in his bedroom.</p><p>A shiver curves down his spine. </p><p>Will stands alone, staring at the variety of colored boxes in front of him, fearing that if he breaks eye contact, he’ll stumble across something more intrusive. The reality that he and Hannibal will fall into bed together becomes set in stone in this moment, and it makes him feel a sense of dread and an overwhelming sense of anticipation. </p><p>He struggles to move his feet from this spot, feeling plastered to the floor. He shoves all his tantalizing subconscious thoughts down into an even deeper part of his mind, trying to cool down the heated blood rushing through his veins. Boiling him from the inside out.  </p><p><em> Food</em>. </p><p>Food will get his mind off of sex. Off of Hannibal. </p><p>He finds himself in the produce and grocery part of the store, turning a sharp corner into the chips and crackers aisle, when he nearly slams into Hannibal. </p><p>“Will,” he exclaims with reverence, and in a teasing tone, “Fancy seeing you here.” </p><p>Will lets out a noise that doesn’t sound human, images he had shoved down flooding back to the forefront of his mind. He needs to turn around and go before he makes a fool of himself. </p><p>Hannibal's cart is half-full with ingredients and breads, hell, it's endearing.</p><p>“Ice cream, do you want any?!” He blurts out. “I’ll go get some.” </p><p>Hannibal looks as if he’s about to decline, but Will juts in again, “Vanilla. I’ll get vanilla.” </p><p>He turns and stalks down to the refrigerators, barely looking at the ice cream as he paces up and down the aisle, eyes of customers turning towards him in general confusion. Now he’s drawing attention to himself, perfect. He takes a moment to nonchalantly look over the food, pretending to browse, and quickly leaves the aisle after he’s found his breath. He returns to where he found Hannibal. He is still in the same place, eyeing the selection of saltines.</p><p>“I forgot we aren’t leaving for a while, it’ll melt,” Will mutters.</p><p>“That it will. I must tell you, I’m not much for ice cream. You may get some if you would like it, though. I make a good fudge,” Hannibal says with a grin that nearly floors him.</p><p>“Okay,” he practically squeaks. “What are you doing?” he asks because he needs to get his mind off of the way Hannibal’s lips shine in the fluorescent lights.</p><p>“Trying to find the right cracker that will go with the soup I want to make.” Hannibal trails his fingers over several boxes, reading the ingredients carefully. In hindsight, Will has no idea why he ever questioned the length of his grocery store excursions.</p><p>“What soup are you making?” </p><p>“Gumbo,” Hannibal turns his head so he can see Will’s reaction. It is slow, and when the gears start turning, he nearly melts. Gumbo is the official state cuisine for Louisiana. </p><p>“You trying to butter me up for something?” Will questions, his usual level of tenacity returning to him languidly. He tries to remember that this is Hannibal. His nerves shouldn’t get the best of him, not when their minds are so close, when their souls are so intertwined. </p><p>“And if I were?” Hannibal impels. </p><p>“Why don’t you find out?” Will asks, “I’ll go disappoint you by hunting down the TV dinners. See you in an hour.” </p><p>Hannibal makes a precious tsk-tsk sound, returning reluctantly to choosing a side for his Gumbo. Will tries not to gush, because of course, he is a grown man. A man who up until he’d run away with Hannibal had not in his life ever decidedly thought of a man as ambrosial.</p><p>Perhaps even until he <em> met </em> Hannibal, or first became intrigued by him. </p><p>Something is stirring within him tonight, and he is fully aware of it as they check out. The fear in his mind of getting caught is farther away than it’s ever been, and his attachment to Hannibal feels like something not so delicately broken. Like he could tread that thin wire between them, and not shy away from what he finds at the other end. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Will helps Hannibal with dinner tonight. </p><p>Louisiana Gumbo requires a Louisianian’s helping hand. Hannibal had been more than happy to accept his offer, as he is a rare guest in the kitchen when Hannibal works. He had always assumed he’d be a bother, but after seeing Hannibal’s gracious smiles and welcoming expressions, he thinks he’d maybe gotten the wrong idea. </p><p>They use one of the bottle blonde’s kidneys for the meat. It will be a sweeter Gumbo than what Will is used to. Human meat tastes much different than pork, but he is pleased to allow Hannibal to indulge in this new recipe. If it is good, they may repeat it. </p><p>As Will stirs the big pot, Hannibal comes up behind him, and helps him stir with a hand pressed softly against the back of his wrist. It is unnecessary of course, but Will embraces the contact, even turning his head to the side to take in Hannibal’s proud gaze. It warms the places in him that have been frozen over for years, and he wishes Hannibal would press closer, make this easier on him. </p><p>Before long, the Gumbo is finished.</p><p>It is fantastic, even with the sweeter taste. </p><p>They share dinner at the dining table, and take their portions in a rather rushed manner, eager to finish and share wine together under the moonlight. Hannibal had promised he’d light the fire pit by the porch. </p><p>The sun is in a deep set, not quite dark yet, but Will patiently waits by the firepit, and watches Hannibal work to light it. He mutters, “The wind might not have mercy on us today,” but eventually gets the flame going after a few more tries with his lighter, and a fair bit of gasoline. </p><p>Will plunks down in the chair next to Hannibal’s, so close that their knees are touching. The fire laps at the air in front of them, eating it up greedily. It reminds him of the burning feeling inside, when he kills, and right before he kills. Occasionally the fire within burns so brightly that he cannot see more than the color red, whitened at the edges. </p><p>They sip idly at their glasses of red wine, and Will has a childish thought. </p><p>“I wish we had marshmallows,” he says.</p><p>Hannibal huffs, a noise close to a laugh and replies, “Marshmallows do not pair well with Pinot Noir.” </p><p>“I’m sure you have experience with that.”</p><p>“It is merely a fact. A chef does not need to try it to know.”  </p><p>Will chuckles dryly, and allows the wine to tingle where it coats his throat. They are both silent for a while after this, merely taking in nature, and the warmth of the fire in a comfortable quiet. The volatile side of their relationship needs this mending, Will thinks, to survive the times when their interactions could be described as one big ticking time bomb.</p><p>He looks to Hannibal and marvels at how he manages to allure him even in a simple black sweater and brown dress pants. He hadn’t spent much time on his hair today, or the gel has faded from the traveling. Either way, Will prefers his hair like this, falling into his eyes, growing slightly long and shaggy. It isn’t the psychiatrist he knows, but the man he wants to bury his body, mind, and soul in.</p><p>Hannibal becomes aware of his staring as he always does, and turns to stare right back, drowning Will in his fondness. He reaches a hand out, a small gesture that Will takes in stride. </p><p>Hannibal doesn’t intertwine their fingers, merely holds Will’s hand over his knee, and he looks down at the contact with a melancholy shimmer in his eyes. </p><p>“When Winter comes, this place will be covered in snow. As far as the eye can see,” he says, low. </p><p>“It astounds me to know we’ll be here in winter,” Will concedes. </p><p>“Only if you wish it,” Hannibal says, quieter. </p><p>“I do wish it,” Will’s lips twitch up when he says it, and Hannibal’s grip tightens on his hand. It is feather-light, but Will feels the desperation in his fingertips as he presses. Hannibal’s gaze becomes solemn and he directs it towards the fire. </p><p>He can barely see the whites of his eyes, just a dull reflection of flame.</p><p>“Hannibal,” Will tries to console, and when Hannibal doesn’t turn, he takes his hand from his, and moves it up to touch his cheek. Hannibal turns then, almost startled.</p><p>Will presses his palm against the side of Hannibal’s face, and he feels cold, too cold for summer, and too cold for someone who is sitting in front of a fire. It makes Will want to press closer, bestow to Hannibal the heat he feels in his chest, all the way down to his toes. </p><p>“You know I’m not going to change my mind right?” Will asks, eyes searching Hannibal’s for an unspoken reply of any sort. Hannibal suddenly isn’t in a very talkative mood, and that’s always a bad sign. He infuses every earnest part of himself into his words, “I’m not going to leave.” </p><p>Hannibal closes his eyes at that, relishing in what he believes to be brief contact. </p><p>Will should have done this sooner, knowing what he knows. Hannibal is in love with him, and Will loves him right back, wholly and fully. As if their souls were made for each other, he’s known that for a while now. Trepidation had flooded the path here, and it had been difficult to wade through water as thick as tar, but he can’t do much in the way of stopping himself.</p><p>He keeps his hand pressed against Hannibal’s cheek and leans in while his eyes are still closed, kissing Hannibal so gently, it could barely be considered real. But, he feels it, in every fiber of his body. When he pulls back from him, he begins to spiral. </p><p>Hannibal’s eyes are open now, and he’s looking at Will with unbridled devotion, like he’s been waiting for this moment his entire life. Will’s hand has dropped from his face, shocked at what he’s done. They stare at each other for a suffocatingly charged second, before Hannibal’s eyes flicker down at Will’s lips. </p><p>It is deserved, he’s been given the go ahead after all.</p><p>Will hasn’t gotten a full grasp on his emotions yet, and Hannibal is leaning in now for another kiss. It is a fraction more passionate, and when Will feels Hannibal’s hand sliding up his neck, tickling the hairs at his nape, he retracts himself from his grip, suddenly. He can still taste Hannibal on his lips, he lingers there like a bad dream. </p><p>Hannibal looks apologetic and confused all at once. </p><p>“I need to,” Will looks around, at the fire, at the woods behind the house, anywhere that isn’t Hannibal’s eyes. “I need time, I’m sorry.” </p><p>He stands up, cursing the ache in his legs as he hurriedly makes his way towards the lake. He doesn’t look back despite every part of him screaming at him to. He feels Hannibal’s gaze on his back and inwardly thanks him for allowing him to go. </p><p>Will stops speed walking when the muscles in his legs start to burn. He’s made it half-way around the lake, and it is so dark he can barely see in front of him. </p><p>He falls forward onto a tree, knees suddenly feeling like jelly, and he collapses to the muddy floor, back scraping against the bark. Adrenaline still rushes through him, nudging him into action, but he has no clue what to do, where to go. What to think. </p><p>He had run away from Hannibal, that much is certain. </p><p>Hell, how is he going to face him when he gets back? It was all too much, he hadn’t been ready for the feelings that would come with a kiss, he had just done it on the spur of the moment, because it had felt right. </p><p>It does feel right, he doesn’t regret it in the slightest. </p><p>Perhaps the fact that it had felt <em> too </em>right was the source of his anguish. Too right, as in, if they had done this before, perhaps a lot of pain and misery could have been erased before it had been committed. That’s not true, deep down Will knows it; a kiss could never have stopped what occurred between them, this type of intimacy would have never been enough. It would have made it worse, so much worse. Like quicklime and rain. </p><p>He stares up at the moon which shines over the lake, casting it in a dark glittery blue. He can barely see the fire even through the darkness, and he wonders if Hannibal put it out. </p><p>It had been like a circuit closing, like reaching the finish line to a marathon. In Hannibal’s eyes, he had seen Will’s readiness, and Will had only felt fear. Fear that he could lose this precious thing if he let it in, and fear that he wouldn’t be enough for him. </p><p>Hannibal has known for a while this is where they would end up, and Will, well, Will has known for a while that one day he must accept this. Perhaps it isn’t as easy as he had anticipated. A glass of wine had helped ease the way, sure, but this is more than the nerves of inexperience. This is something that has been festering between them for years, like tea poured to the tip-top of a tea cup. If it moves, there is a chance of overflow. </p><p>He takes a second to breathe, clear out his thoughts. He thinks of the kiss, <em> kisses </em>, and how warm and perfect Hannibal’s lips had felt moving against his. He’s thought about those lips before, and he wants to think about them again. He doesn’t want his nerves to become him. </p><p>The longer Will sits by the side of the lake, the more he feels nauseous. He’ll catch a cold if he stays out for too long, and he doesn’t want to keep Hannibal waiting. </p><p>When he returns to the house, the fire is put out, and when he heads inside, he finds that the dining table is cleared. Hannibal is nowhere to be seen. </p><p>There is a mortifying ache in his chest, a swell of impassioned apprehension. He doesn’t dare call out his name for fear of his own voice. He heads upstairs when he hears a distant noise, and sees Hannibal in his bedroom, folding clothes and placing them in drawers.</p><p>Will leans against the door frame, swallowing his guilt. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” he says finally. Hannibal looks up at him, blank in the face.</p><p>“What is there to be sorry about, Will?” </p><p>Will stalls, not expecting indifference. “I didn’t want to run off like that, I just…” He expected Hannibal to rush to him, hold him maybe. “I don’t know.” </p><p>Hannibal rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck, and very slowly folds some socks away. “It does not matter, Will. You did not hurt my feelings. Are you alright?”</p><p>“Yes, but–”</p><p>“Good. Don’t fret about it, if you are. You know I do not mind, I am merely flattered that you had the urge to try. I suspected you might not want me in that way.”</p><p>“What?" Will stutters out. “What do y–”</p><p>“I told you once my compassion for you is inconvenient,” Hannibal reminds, and turns to him with a resigned expression. “You do not share the affection I have for you, and that is quite alright. I can’t force you to, and you can’t force yourself.”</p><p>“Hannibal.” Will is dumbfounded.</p><p>“You needn’t argue, Will.” </p><p>“<em>Hannibal</em>,” he practically shouts. </p><p>Hannibal’s mouth snaps shut, and he stares at Will with an empty look. The gleam that normally gives his gaze that extra kick is missing, as if he no longer expects anything of Will. It is harrowing, and it makes the nauseous feeling inside churn until he is on the verge of hyperventilating. He steps closer. </p><p>“You’re assuming, you’re psychoanalyzing,” Will shakily tells him. “You’re not seeing.”</p><p>Hannibal continues as if he doesn’t hear him. “It was fairly obvious what you were feeling, Will. I could see the fear in your eyes, as clearly as I could smell it on you.” </p><p>Will glances down at the floor, momentarily ashamed.</p><p>“That’s not–”</p><p>“Please, Will. It is alright. We don’t need to speak about it any longer.”</p><p>“Don’t say that,” Will whispers. </p><p>“I am trying to make this easier for you,” Hannibal explains, matter of factly. The words sting, the way they’re said, the way that Hannibal doesn’t understand. Against his better judgement, Will’s eyes start to burn, and he can feel them glisten with tears that will refuse to fall.</p><p>“Will,” Hannibal’s voice is drenched with concern. “It is alright,” he repeats. </p><p>“No,” Will barely gets out. “I want you, more than I’ve ever wanted anyone.” </p><p>Hannibal stills, tense as an animal conditioned from abuse. </p><p>Will looks up at him, and understands that Hannibal isn’t going to understand, not unless he shows him. He raises his hands to Hannibal’s face, strokes his cheeks, which feel raw as if he had been crying before Will had returned to the house. The two of them, brutal killers, and they can’t even keep their tears at bay. He pulls him down, ready for the kiss this time, the shocky feelings that run through him like tremors. He wonders if this is what love feels like. </p><p>He’s never kissed anyone he’s felt this deep of a connection with. </p><p>His eyes are squeezed shut to avoid salty tears ruining the taste of Hannibal. One of his hands is in Hannibal’s hair, threading his fingers through the soft strands, the other at his shoulder, gripping lightly. Hannibal takes a few moments to respond, gears going from dormant to spinning at the speed of light in a few seconds flat. He raises his hands to Will’s face when he starts to kiss back, and Will shudders when his fingertip brush over his scar. </p><p>“How could you think I didn’t want you?” Will says against his lips, drowning in the wet slide of his mouth, the hint of sharp teeth on his bottom lip. His voice comes across as needy and desperate, not what he would have pictured himself displaying, but he can’t help himself. “You know I do.” </p><p>“I didn’t dare hope for this much,” Hannibal responds roughly, with fragile strokes against his jawline with his thumbs. His eyes are closed when Will opens his, and he moves to kiss his eyelids. They slowly flutter open, and Hannibal appears reverent. </p><p>Will shakes his head, and kisses his lips again, the side of his lips, his jaw, his neck, and he grips him close, hugging him tight to his chest. </p><p>“I’m sorry I ran off,” Will says into the crook of his neck. “I know how that looked. I didn’t think you’d get the wrong idea. I just, I wasn’t prepared.” </p><p>Hannibal kisses the top of his head, holding him just as tight. </p><p>“I am sorry I assumed,” he responds with an edge of humor. “I’m sorry I didn’t give you more than a few seconds to collect yourself. You surprised me.” </p><p>“I surprised myself,” Will admits, feeling warmth everywhere Hannibal is touching him. It feels like the cliff, but as if he were wrapped in one big blanket, rather than drenched in cooling blood. </p><p>Will pulls back enough so his words aren’t muffled in Hannibal’s skin. It is the first time in a while he is bashful to make eye contact, so he stares at Hannibal’s neck, which does nothing to quash the heat he feels deep in his body. He focuses on the hand stroking through his hair. </p><p>“I wanted to kiss you sooner,” he says, “But, I never felt the timing was right. I even thought about doing it in the grocery store.” </p><p>“We would have drawn attention,” Hannibal says, the color in his cheeks brighter than normal. It makes Will’s heart ache, and he wants to kiss him again. </p><p>“Can we talk about this tomorrow?” Will asks. “I want to talk about it when it’s not late and we’re not covered in tears and full of wine. I don’t think we did this properly tonight.” </p><p>Hannibal for the first time Will has heard him do it, lets out an embarrassed laugh, outlined with relief and peace of mind. “I would have to agree.” </p><p>Will reluctantly shimmies out of Hannibal’s grip, and Hannibal watches him leave with a heavy gaze. He shuts the door behind him and takes a deep breath when he’s across the hall. When he’s in his bedroom, he collapses to the floor, and clunks his head back against the door frame. His breaths come in short, and he is trembling.</p><p>All good feelings. All anticipation tingling throughout his body, like pinpricks of pain. It is not unwelcome, Will wants to wrap himself up in these feelings and run out of oxygen. </p><p>The promise of tomorrow keeps him awake for hours, and the thought of Hannibal sleeping soundly across the hall from him. </p><p><em> Tomorrow </em>, the word plays on repeat in his head until he can’t keep his eyes open. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i only know quicklime reacts poorly with water because of this lovely little movie called "island of death" which i suggest for any person who likes depraved movies just like me. hope this was enjoyable, and believable, sometimes i can be too mushy, but i love some angst/resolution. more coming soon! xoxo</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Will stares at the ceiling, and for an interminable hour, he wonders about who may have been the one to plaster it. Hannibal probably knows when the house was built, and by who. Hell, he’s probably got blueprints.</p><p>The smell of breakfast begins to waft in through the cracks of his closed door, and he recognizes that staying in bed any longer would come across as borderline juvenile, so he forces himself up from his cocoon of sheets, dresses in the white t-shirt he went to bed in, and throws on black drawstring pants.</p><p>Thinking about making himself look good will only make things harder.</p><p>In the bathroom while he’s brushing his teeth, staring blankly at his reflection, he vows not to make it uncomfortable. He reminds himself once more that they are grown men. </p><p>When he makes his way downstairs and to the dining table, he figures out that this may not be an achievable plan. He nearly chokes on air at the sight.</p><p>The table is decked out with so many options for breakfast, that a man could go stark raving mad for privilege of choice. There is a plate of pancakes bestrewn with whip cream, fruits, a special looking syrup. There are omelettes of various kinds, oatmeal, all fanciful and well-dressed. Will stares at the centerpiece, a tray with levels containing multicolored macaroons. For <em> breakfast</em>. </p><p>Hannibal comes out with two clear jugs, one orange juice, and one some red liquid he can’t place. Perhaps a combination of strawberries, apple juice, or whatever Hannibal decided to experiment with this morning.</p><p>“By all means,” Will drawls. “Let’s not make it awkward.”</p><p>Hannibal averts his gaze with a sheepish smile. “I felt chipper this morning, that’s all.” It’s an understatement. </p><p>He pours them drinks, two glasses on either side of the table. Will can pick which juice he wants, or drink both of them if he so pleases. Hannibal pulls out his chair for him and Will fumbles into it, unable to take his eyes off the over-extravagant edible adornments. </p><p>When they are both sitting, the tension becomes thicker, perhaps even too thick for the proverbial butterknife to cut through. Will sighs, fighting a smile.</p><p>“Is this atonement of some sort?” he asks slowly. </p><p>“I didn’t want you to be the least bit uncomfortable,” Hannibal admits sullenly. “Perhaps I’ve gone a tad overboard.” He slices into an omelette, waiting for Will to choose something.</p><p>Will doesn’t put much thought into it, sliding the pancakes closer to his chest. He knows Hannibal won’t start eating until he does, after all. </p><p>“I think it’s a little late for that,” Will says with humor, picking at his meal. </p><p>“Will–"</p><p>“After breakfast,” Will tells him, lightly. “On the bench by the stream.” </p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>They eat in silence, the tension between them ferments in the air like alcohol, refining itself to a deeply rooted anticipation. Will is honestly flattered, more so than he thought he would be when he first saw the table. Seeing Hannibal resemble something of a lovesick jittery fool is doing all kinds of good things for his ego. No one has ever doted on him this much, not even when he was married. </p><p>He can tell Hannibal is brimming with elation, muted as it is by the silence. They take the dishes to the sink, and he doesn’t even try to wash one. He hovers around Will in a five foot circumference, not wanting to come across as overbearing, but too eager to stay away. Will has to actively avoid finding it attractive on ungodly levels. </p><p>When they finally make their way outside, Will breathes in the fresh air like he’s starving for it. The bench is cold from such a windy night, the sun barely having been up long enough to warm it. Hannibal sits beside him, wincing at the old bullet wound which occasionally still gives him the mildest of aches. The atmosphere between them begins to match the languid rhythm of the stream just beyond the fence. It calms Will, gives him the ability to maintain perspective rather than jump into this head first. </p><p>They talk because they always talk. They are not men who speak with fists and shouting, not to each other. They speak with their minds open, and their words spun in an elegant tapestry. </p><p>“Not to sound presumptuous, but I know you love me,” Will says after some time. “I’ve known for a while.” </p><p>“I suspected,” Hannibal admits. His hands are intertwined on his lap and his chin is tilted up towards the tops of the trees, an illusion of birdwatching. </p><p>The stream swallows up the silence which stretches far between them.</p><p>“I love you too,” Will confesses softly. He had not planned to say it when he woke up, or even before he came outside. He found he needed to now. Hannibal turns to him, an acute move so quick it looks as if it hurt his neck. He is unable to keep the ferocity from his gaze. He adds, “I suspect you knew that as well.”</p><p>Hannibal looks down at Will’s lips, without purpose, but it makes Will want to lean forward, be absorbed into him. It is only them for miles. No one can disturb the peace they have found here. </p><p>“You gave up your entire life to be here with me,” Hannibal finally responds. “There is some truth to my knowing. I didn’t bother dreaming about the possibility of you wanting me the same way I have wanted you. I knew that you were connected to me in one way already, and I wasn’t selfish enough to believe that I could have you entirely for myself. That I could earn your love, rather than just your devotion.”</p><p>“You earned it a long time ago. Before I knew I’d handed it over.” </p><p>Hannibal looks up again, searching. Will reaches out a hand, and relaxes when Hannibal takes it, rubs his thumbs over his knuckles. It fits like a puzzle piece. </p><p>“When I took a walk last night,” Will starts, knowing full well calling it a <em> walk </em>is putting it mildly, “I thought, what if we had done this sooner? Been intimate before all the pain.” </p><p>“It would have been harder,” Hannibal tells him. “Much harder.”</p><p>“I came to the same conclusion. The thought made me realize, though, how many times I’d felt that way for you. Never labeling it, never trying to. I knew that I wanted you, and yet…” Will shakes his head, tightening his grip on Hannibal’s hand. “It’s all cloudy.” </p><p>“We are here now,” Hannibal says, his voice layered with affection. </p><p>“All of our scrupulous flirtation, all of it led to a wine-drunk kiss by the fire,” Will muses, taking in a deep breath. “Here I thought our love would be baptized in blood.” </p><p>“It was, on the bluff. You felt it too, didn’t you?” </p><p>“I wanted to kiss you then, but I needed there to be closure, more than anything. I needed an end, before any new beginnings. Fate led me here, as I knew deep down it might.” </p><p>“If you had kissed me and then thrown us off the cliff, I might have gotten even worse mixed signals,” Hannibal teases and Will chuckles back, color rising to his cheeks. </p><p>“Tell me where your head is at, Will,” Hannibal urges. </p><p>Will nods. Hannibal’s grip on his hand grounds him. </p><p>“I want you with every cell in my body,” Will furrows his brows, and licks his lips. “I want you so badly sometimes, I can scarcely stop myself from jumping your bones, so I want to take it slow. I need to. I want to relish it, and not allow my instinctual side to take over. If that’s selfish of me, you can tell me.” </p><p>“It isn’t selfish,” Hannibal says swiftly. “Not in the least.” </p><p>“You’ll let me come to you?” Will asks. </p><p>“I will take what you offer, do what you ask. It is a privilege.” </p><p>Will’s eyes flicker down to their hands and he squeezes, letting out a sigh when Hannibal squeezes back. “If you want something from me, you can ask me. I don’t want this to be a one-sided thing. I could always say no. But, I could always say yes.” </p><p>Hannibal smirks, at the ready. “May I kiss you, Will?” </p><p>“I see you’re already recklessly using your power against me,” Will is breathless as he says it, leaning in and kissing him anyway. It feels better than it did last night, not shrouded with misplaced despair and negligent anticipation. </p><p>Hannibal refuses to let go of his grip on Will’s hand, bringing his free one up to cup his neck as he licks into his mouth. Will lets out a small gasp when he feels their tongues intertwine, like a dance, similar to their conversations. He places his hand on Hannibal’s arm, pulling back in shock at how big his muscles seem. He knew he was broad, to say the least, but to feel it while kissing him is another story. </p><p>Hannibal watches him knowingly, rubbing at the hollow of his throat. </p><p>“What have I done to deserve such a prize?”</p><p>“Literally nothing good your entire life,” Will scoffs, and shoves him away playfully. “You don’t deserve this show pony.” </p><p>“And yet I paid so greatly for it.” Hannibal shifts closer, a new tactic in mind. “I could make you anything you want for lunch.” </p><p>“Edible bribery,” Will nips at Hannibal’s lips, delighted at the way his face brightens when he does. “You know all the right buttons to push.” </p><p>Hannibal kisses him again, knowing he doesn’t need permission this time. He kisses Will like he can never quite get his fill, as if he may never get another chance again. Will is too greedy to tell him he doesn’t have to; he revels in the attention, the desperate press of his lips and tongue. </p><p>“I would tell you so many secrets if I didn’t already know you have a problem with hubris,” Will admits with a hoarse voice, teasing strands of hair at the nape of his neck.</p><p>Hannibal leans back, affronted, and Will stubbornly drags him back in. “Tell me it wouldn't go to your head if I told you I was infatuated with you.” He kisses him, strokes fingers over the soft skin under his ears. “If I told you I dreamed about you last night.” </p><p>He is speechless under Will’s attentions, loose with compliance. </p><p>“I’d like to think I have power over you,” he says out of nowhere. </p><p>Hannibal’s eyes are closed and he lets out a rough sigh. “Trust me, you do.” </p><p>The admission deserves a reward. Will kisses the space between his brows, and sits back, taking in the nature all around them which seems more vibrant with color all of a sudden. “Come fishing with me?” he suggests.</p><p>“Gladly.” </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>For lunch, they have lung. Hannibal quips about the meat coming from a “golden goose” along with a metaphor about the Brothers Grimm which Will doesn’t pay attention to. He only focuses on how the lung looks, roasted to perfection. Will doesn’t bother reminding him they are only eating this because Hannibal couldn’t catch a large enough fish at the lake. </p><p>Will had been focusing too much time helping Hannibal fish rather than tending to his own line, so there was unfortunately no catch of the afternoon. Perhaps fortunately though, Will can finally learn what lung tastes like. </p><p>His palette isn’t as refined as Hannibal’s, so the difference between lung and kidney isn’t too stark in his opinion, but the taste seems heavier on his tongue, and it lingers when they wash up.</p><p>The rest of the evening is spent in luxury, as their usual evenings are. Yet, there is a feverish air all around the house, filled with the excitement of new possibilities. </p><p>Will works on tying new fishing knots, with bright multi-colored feathers Hannibal had found for him at the store. Hannibal is working in the study, and when he is there, Will knows he’s either drawing or composing. He knows to leave him alone. It is a small room with only the piano, a few couches, and a desk. </p><p>Will can’t recall being in the study more than twice, one of those times being the first tour of the house, and so when his fingers begin to tingle with exhaustion, and he’s got too many fishing hooks tied and baited for his own good, he ventures in there. Hannibal is hunched over his desk, the only light coming from a dim lamp beside him. </p><p>Hannibal looks so gentle, and Will remembers he is allowed to touch him. It doesn’t stop him from being nervous as he steps up behind him and leans over his shoulder to see what he’s writing. Will slides his hand over his shoulder, feeling the raw strength beneath his fingertips and Hannibal responds by raising up a hand to touch his fingers, stroking lightly against his knuckles. “Hello, Will,” he calmly greets. </p><p>Will runs his free hand through Hannibal’s hair, and Hannibal leans back into the contact. It is silky, and perfect as he had always expected. Will hums, pleased. His eyes then narrow toward the papers on the desk, confusion seeping its way into his bones.  </p><p>“What is this?”</p><p>Words drastically begin to catch his eye: <em> Flight, America, Destination </em>. All small print, the collection of papers looking suspiciously like plans and schedules.</p><p>“Hannibal, what is this?” He repeats firmly. </p><p>“I was not going to tell you for a few days,” Hannibal concedes with a small sigh, “However, since you are asking, I will not hide the truth from you.” </p><p>Will steps back so Hannibal can turn and face him. He looks tired, like he’s spent too many nights mulling over something upsetting. Nothing like the energy he had this morning. </p><p>“I’m procuring a flight to America.”</p><p>“I gathered that,” Will mutters, feeling sick with the confirmation of his assumption. He internally curses himself for being unable to stop himself from stating the obvious. “We’ll be caught, Hannibal. Nobody’s looking for us here, everybody’s looking for us there, why do you want to, after…” </p><p><em> After this morning, after we finally have the time to allow ourselves to not feel alone. </em>Will doesn’t say. </p><p>Hannibal abruptly stands, and gestures for Will to sit on the couch so they can be level. Will slumps down into the cushions and angles himself towards Hannibal who faces him with only gentleness, and poise. “Will, this would only be for two days. The flight we take will be private, and Chiyoh will be helping us along the way.”</p><p>“What for?” Will demands, shocked enough to come across as calm; he is seconds from ripping anything he can get his hands on into shreds. </p><p>“Bedelia,” Hannibal tells him and Will feels his insides tangle. “I think it’s time we visited our dear friend.” </p><p>Will feels the tension leave his body almost instantaneously. He is still apprehensive, but knowing this trip is with Bedelia’s demise in mind, and only that, he no longer feels like a steam engine ready to blow. </p><p>“Why now?” He can’t stop himself from asking. </p><p>“From the few phone calls I have shared with Chiyoh, I gathered that the FBI is not far off from discovering the status of our survival. Sooner than I anticipated, but I believe it would be prudent to drop in on Bedelia now. While she’s still silent,” Hannibal explains. </p><p>Will nods, aggrieved to admit it. “You’re right.” </p><p>“Please, if you have concerns, Will, I would care to hear them.” Hannibal takes his hand and kisses his knuckles, and it almost makes him forget his spiraling nerves</p><p>“I can’t let them catch us.” Will says this before he can think, before he can breathe.  He knows that he would have no power against the authorities if he was caught, knows that he can’t do anything about the constant fear of imprisonment that wracks him. If Hannibal is taken away from him now, he will surely go mad. He’d be a fool to think otherwise. </p><p>“I can’t,” he repeats. “I’ll see the world dead before I see you in a cage again.” </p><p>“You would be in a cage too,” Hannibal notes affectionately. “It would be likely that we will not see each other for a very long time, if at all, if we do get caught.”</p><p>Will grimaces, pulling his hand away. “D-Don’t.” </p><p>“Will,” He gathers him back up in his arms, and suddenly he feels very warm, surrounded by an invisible safety net. “Do you think I would allow that to happen if I knew there was a chance? I couldn’t bear to be apart from you.” </p><p>Will rests his forehead against Hannibal’s chest, gripping tight at the fabric of his shirt. He shakes his head. “I could barely stand it for those years, Will. I counted the days I had not seen you, until you were in front of me once more. Your boorish attitude was more than a delight in the face of your prior absence.” </p><p>“It was good to see you.” Will knows what this admission will mean for Hannibal, and he feels a hand still in his hair, as he cherishes the confession. </p><p>“I can explain the plan to you,” Hannibal whispers. “Every detail, every step.”</p><p>Will nods, and in a soft voice says, “Please.”</p><p>Hannibal stands up and returns to the couch with the papers in hand. He shows Will flight plans, apparently easy to cancel if Will decides he doesn’t want to go through with this. Will knows if he says no, the chance of their getting caught is even bigger. Bedelia is too close. </p><p>Chiyoh had sent him various motels, far off from Bedelia’s home that don’t verify with ID, or require them to pay with card. They will be staying at one when they land, kill Bedelia the next night, and take off that same night on the same jet plane, private and paid for already by Hannibal. .</p><p>“Money can buy everything, I guess,” Will jibes. </p><p>It is practical, in every sense</p><p>Will knows that Hannibal wouldn’t care for this plan if it was not. He can’t help but think about the few Americans they’ll have to interact with even during such a short journey. The possibility they could be recognized is high, and Hannibal surely doesn’t have a back up plan for if a random citizen calls the cops on them. </p><p>It may work, and yet there is one more thing weighing on Will’s mind.</p><p>“Is Bedelia worth it?” He asks brashly. “As small as the risk may be.”</p><p>Hannibal considers him, crosses his legs. “Will, this is for your benefit, not just mine.”</p><p>“What makes you think I need this?” </p><p>“Bedelia threatens you,” Hannibal says simply. </p><p>Will glowers, scoffs. “That’s a joke,” he says through his teeth. “She means nothing to me, I’m indifferent to her.” He rises to his feet, the heat of Hannibal’s knowing gaze making him feel on edge. “I don’t want to risk this,” he gestures to the two of them, “on that bitch’s behalf. Not so soon.”</p><p>“Will,” Hannibal presses, hands pressed together on his knees, as if explaining to a child. Will should hate him for it. “She took your place in Florence, in every sense of the phrase, she spent more than a day in your shoes, lived the life you could have had.”</p><p>“I should be blaming you for that, shouldn’t I?” Will deflects, hand worrying the hem of his shirt.</p><p>“Perhaps,” Hannibal says mildly, with a slight smile. “But, do you?” </p><p>Will relents. “No, I never have. I blamed myself. I didn’t blame her, I hated her. You’re the psychiatrist,” he sucks his teeth in defeat. “You knew that.”</p><p>“Will, I know we discussed otherwise, but the timing is prudent.” </p><p>“I know. You plan like you pack. Seven suitcases too heavy.” </p><p>It turns out his stamina for hating Hannibal has run low over the years. </p><p>Hannibal gestures for him to join him on the couch once more, and Will gives in, sliding back against him. He allows the hand in his hair, the other pressing at his shoulder in a loose hug. “I only want what you desire,” he says eventually. </p><p>“I desire <em> you </em>,” Will protests feebly, toying with the sleeve of Hannibal’s shirt. He looks up at him to find his gaze imploring, urging him to continue. Will can’t help but smirk, “But, I did tell Bedelia that meat is back on the menu.” </p><p>“Charming boy,” Hannibal praises, stroking through his curls which have grown out since they first got here. He wonders if he asked Hannibal, if he would cut his hair. </p><p>“Is that better than ‘clever boy?’” </p><p>“Boys can be clever <em> and </em>charming.” </p><p>“I’m a man,” Will reminds, chest puffing up unintentionally. Hannibal's face gleams, a smile that makes his cheeks rise, an expression Will used to connect with him being impressed or proud of Will, but now he senses he wants to kiss him, and it’s more than tempting. </p><p>He leans with fluttering eyes so Hannibal can get the picture, and Hannibal presses his thumb under his bottom lip, holding Will’s chin as he leans in to place a chaste kiss on his dry lips. </p><p>“A handsome man at that,” Hannibal tells him, staring at his face in a way that Will would shy away from if it were anyone else. He remembers vaguely their conversation about eye contact when they first met, how blind Will had been then. He doesn’t know what he would do without seeing Hannibal’s eyes, to know what he’s thinking, feeling. “You’re lost in your thoughts,” he adds.</p><p>“Thinking about the whites of your eyes,” Will nearly grins. “Perhaps wondering if I can spot a burst vein.” </p><p>Hannibal never misses a cue, and he sprouts up, delighted at the memory. </p><p>“You were so callous then.” </p><p>“I’m not now?” Will asks in disbelief. “I’m doing my job wrong.” </p><p>“I do so enjoy when you are crude and unforgiving,” Hannibal nuzzles his cheek and Will’s heart skips a beat. He presses his cheek firmly against Hannibal’s in response, muttering in his ear.</p><p>“You’re masochistic. I don’t need to be a psychiatrist to know that.”</p><p>“Look where self-sacrifice has gotten me,” Hannibal observes, holding Will close. For a shining moment, Will remembers his resentment, and his old self. If it were four years ago, he’d scream and claw his way out of a situation such as this, never willing to resign to his fate, to Hannibal’s vision of their future. </p><p>It is possible he has gone insane, because he only wants more. Insanity has never tasted sweeter. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Will enters the study again after dinner to the sound of an upbeat tune. Normally, when Hannibal plays the piano, it is a somber noise that travels around the house like a whisper on the wind. Today, there is an optimistic curve to the consonance, and the notes sound familiar almost as if they reflect the newfound buoyant ambience. </p><p>He slides up next to Hannibal on the piano bench, watching him work up close. Hannibal smiles at his presence, but keeps his eyes on the sheet music as his fingers dance over the keys.</p><p>“Perpetual Motion by Francis Poulenc,” Hannibal states. He does not need to, Will can read the title on the sheet music, but he listens closely, pictures an older man composing this. He’s certain he’s heard of Poulenc, even if he’s not as fully cultured in music as Hannibal is. </p><p>Will brushes a finger lightly over one of the higher keys, not pressing, just feeling the ivory. Hannibal pays him no mind until he dips his pointer finger into the highest key. It barely makes a noise over Hannibal’s exuberant playing, but he can see the small twitch knotted between his brows, and Will does it again as a crescendo begins to climb. </p><p>“Are you attempting to grab my attention?” Hannibal asks, almost in accusation as he continues. Will strokes down the keys with a finger and hums.</p><p>“I already have it.” </p><p>Will reaches down to a lower note, between Hannibal’s fingers and presses hard. The sound is so offensively off-key that Hannibal startles to a stop and lets out a deep sigh. </p><p>“Will,” he warns.</p><p>“I might be trying to piss you off,” Will’s voice is sly with intention and he lowers his head to Hannibal’s shoulder. “I’ll stop.”</p><p>Hannibal doesn’t respond, but continues from the measure he had been interrupted. It jostles Will slightly, but he can’t muster up any motivation to remove himself from Hannibal’s side. The music and movements are mesmerizing, he could fall asleep if it wasn’t such a peppy tune. </p><p>Will glances up at Hannibal from his shoulder. Hannibal’s eyes are drawn to slits in concentration, and he’s only tense where Will is sidled up against him. Will knows better, knows that he is acutely focused on Will just as much as he is the music piece. It’s endearing, to see him pretend to be otherwise. </p><p>On a compulsion, he lifts up minutely to kiss Hannibal’s neck, smiling to himself when Hannibal lets out a salient breath, not stopping, but certainly not fully focused on the music anymore. Will does it again, this time closer to the warm, soft skin beneath Hannibal’s ear. He laughs in the crook of his neck when Hannibal plays a sour note.</p><p>This time it is an admonishment when Hannibal says, “<em>Will</em>.” </p><p>“I said I’d stop pissing you off. I promised nothing of distraction.”</p><p>Hannibal closes his eyes for a moment, as if steeling himself, before turning with a cat-like dominance. “You will be good while I play,” he orders. </p><p>Will’s brows raise, he ignores the tight sensation that makes his blood feel hot around his abdomen at the demand, and instead makes a point of staring at Hannibal’s lips. </p><p>“And if I ask you not to play?” </p><p>Hannibal smirks, confirming, “You need only ask.” </p><p>Will captures Hannibal’s face in his hands, kissing him firmly and with intention. Will had never been one to shy away from what he wants, not romantically at least. Now that he’s able, he finds he wants to kiss the daylight out of Hannibal any chance he gets. It enforces his stubbornness when Hannibal places a gentle hand over one of Will’s own, urging him to slow and savor the kiss. </p><p>Will shifts closer, and Hannibal has to turn his body fully to make the angle easier on them both. Will makes breathy sounds as he kisses him, gasping when he feels his tongue in his mouth. He can feel his cheeks heating, turning pink.</p><p>Hannibal chuckles when he retreats and Will chases his lips. “There’s no need to rush yourself, Will.” </p><p>He may appear unaffected, but he can feel how tightly Hannibal’s fingers are curled around his wrist. Will kisses him again, slowly, like he wants. Their lips are wet, and they slide against each other perfectly for the small pecks Will leans in for. Hannibal hums and smiles against his lips. </p><p>Will then asks, “Why? Am I working you up?” </p><p>His eyes darken in response and Will bites gently at bottom lip before tossing himself off the bench, and casually heads out of the study. As he’s passing through the archway, he winks at Hannibal who’s hair is now mussed, and his shirt asque, looking only somewhat debauched and out of breath from this distance. </p><p>Will can’t help but smirk as he scurries up to his room. </p><p>He reads for an hour or two, out of some books he found in the study. One of them is a murder mystery, the other a non-fiction about jet planes. It is late when he hears a knock at the door. </p><p>“Come in,” he calls, rapidly straightening out his disheveled hair, and his posture before Hannibal can open the door. “Hey,” he greets.</p><p>Hannibal makes no comment about the state of Will’s room (though Will is certain it is much messier than Hannibal’s) nor is it apparent that this is his first time in Will’s room since they’ve been staying here. “I thought you might like to have this,” he says, carrying over a large piece of paper.</p><p>Will takes it and examines it when Hannibal sits on the bed, beside his folded up knees. </p><p>“Hannibal,” he mutters. “This is…” </p><p>“I could not capture your full likeness on paper. You are far too ethereal.” </p><p>It is a sketch of him, lying on the couch during one of his afternoon naps. He had never even noticed Hannibal sketching him, not once. He wonders which afternoon this was, perhaps after that long fly fishing trip, or the time he’d spilled champagne on his shirt and Hannibal lent him one of his sweaters. He hadn’t collapsed on the couch long after that, all too satisfied to swim in the width of his sweater in his dreams. </p><p>It had smelled like him too, woodsy and expensive. </p><p>“You’re giving this to me?” Will asks, disbelieving the offer. </p><p>“Of course, I have others. I thought you may enjoy owning one.”</p><p>“Others,” Will whispers, drawing a finger delicately over the lines and curves. He stops so that he doesn’t smudge the pencil. “I don’t know what to say.” </p><p>He should say thank you, but Hannibal leans in to kiss his forehead once before he can get the chance. He shies, and turns his face down to disguise his blush. </p><p>“That is all I require,” Hannibal smiles with teeth. “I will see you tomorrow.”</p><p>He nearly stands up to leave, but Will grabs his arm. “Kiss me properly,” he insists, and then in a softer voice, “Please.” </p><p>Hannibal doesn’t hesitate for a moment, leaning in to press an open-mouthed kiss against Will’s lips. It sends a shiver down his spine, and he opens his mouth happily for the intrusion, not quite used to the way their tongues meet, wet and warm.</p><p>It reminds him of college, the first time he’d ever kissed anyone. It had been a girl he met at a party, both of them drunk and young as pups. He hadn’t thought much about the act, as she had been sloppy, slobbering all over his face like he was a meal, not like he was anything meaningful to her. It’s not as if he gave her much to think about either, pressing firm lips all over her face, as he’d seen in films, or in <em> less </em>tasteful programs in the late of night.</p><p>But this is Hannibal, who kisses Will like he never wants anything more. It strikes him that they are in a bedroom, kissing, strikes him fully when he feels Hannibal’s hand at his waist. </p><p>He pulls back, a high-pitched breathy noise escaping his throat without his permission as he does. Hannibal can tell what went wrong, and he runs a hand through Will's hair. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t intending anything when I put my hand there.” </p><p>“I know, I just got overwhelmed for a minute,” Will says. “Maybe you’re right, I shouldn’t be rushing things.” </p><p>He feels stupid saying it. It would be easy to give in and take what he wants; Hannibal will be more than willing to give anything and everything when he’s ready, and that reality makes him tense. If he asked for Hannibal to take him right here and now, he would. A part of Will wants to, desperately, the parts of his body where blood is rushing very steadily at this moment wants to. A part of him knows he must wait, make sure it is the right moment, not in the midst of his worry about the trip to America, and not the first time Hannibal finds his way into his bedroom.</p><p>“Will,” Hannibal consoles with the veil of being able to read his mind, he always seems to have that ability. “I want whatever you want. If you never want anything further than this, then I will be satisfied. If you do, don’t rush it. I waited three years for you, I can wait more.” </p><p>Will barks out a laugh. “You’re gonna have to wait twenty if you keep psychoanalyzing me.” </p><p>Hannibal glares at him fondly. “Perhaps if you stop teasing me.” </p><p>“You like it,” Will goads. “You did even before we were intimate.” </p><p>“We were always intimate,” Hannibal reminds. “A marriage of the minds.” </p><p>The word marriage in relation to them makes Will feel something sharp in his chest that has nothing to do with arousal. He lays back against the pillows. “I’m going to need all the rest I can get if we’re leaving for America next week. Jet lag is a bitch.” </p><p>Hannibal nods his assent, heading for the door. He shoots Will with a smoldering, lust-filled stare, casting his eyes over Will’s body just as he swoops out the door, and it suspiciously comes across as payback for what happened at the piano. Will huffs, turning on his side. </p><p>He shuts off the lights after another moment, and realizes then that is cock is astonishingly hard. He knew he had been getting worked up all day, but now the culmination of it is this. An aching dick is no problem, alone in the comfort of his own room, at night. It even helps him go to sleep, but the truth is that he hasn’t had an orgasm since before the bluff. </p><p>With Molly. </p><p>He hasn't even thought of touching himself here, not until now. Not even in the shower, where an erection might have come up spontaneously. He has no clue why. </p><p>His dick is hard enough not to ignore. He’d either have to go take a cold shower or bring himself off right now and the former isn’t looking so comfortable. If Hannibal spots him drawing a cold shower, he’ll never hear the end of it, he’s sure. </p><p>Will glaces once at his shut bedroom door, hoping Hannibal doesn’t come in for any belated metaphorical conversation as he creeps his hand into his boxers. When he grips himself, he has to squeeze tightly to keep from coming right away. He might not have realized how long it’s been, but his body certainly has. When the edge is off, he sets a slow pace, gritting his teeth the whole way, curling his lip back with effort to keep himself from groaning. </p><p>His first thought is that he can’t think of Hannibal while he does this. Even with all their broken boundaries, and newfound desires, it’s too intrusive. He’s also not sure if he’s ready for the imagery; it had been nearly too much at the grocery store. </p><p>He tries thinking of Molly, her blonde flowing hair, the way her boobs lifted and fell when she’d ride him. It is nice for thirty seconds, until the memories become bruised. It is not right, he thinks, even more so than thinking of Hannibal. He remembers the pain he caused her, the Dragon nearly killing her son, and his erection flags for a moment. </p><p>In that same moment comes a sickly feeling of hope; Will thinks his erection will go away, a few more bad thoughts, and perhaps his cock will give up. He doesn’t stop the slow strokes on his dick despite this hope, and his brain supplies different images instead, the part of his brain that apparently he can’t control. Images flash through his mind, not fully put together visions of Hannibal inside him, pressing his mouth against his cock, sucking his balls into his mouth, pushing his knees high against his chest as he slides in. </p><p>Will lets out a small noise, surprised at the obscenity of his own thoughts. He brings up his free hand to his mouth, biting his knuckles so he can’t make another sound. </p><p>His cock is fully hard, leaking now, completely forgetting the momentary lapse of arousal. Will quickens his pace, needing this to be over quickly. He purposefully pictures Hannibal pressing him into the mattress now, whispering in his ears, squeezing his ass with his calloused fingers as he thrusts into him hard, over and over. </p><p>Will chokes on a whine that begs to be released from his throat, and fortunately he comes right then in a silent gasp, coating his fingers in white spurts of come that shoot from his cock. It’s been a while, so it makes a bit of a mess, and he scrambles for tissues, wiping himself as clean as he can. His hands are shaking, and the thoughts of Hannibal he’d conjured up fade into his mind, ghostly visages that make him feel rotten and wrong. </p><p>It does help him sleep though, and he is out the second his head hits his pillow again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>sometimes i get blind in the face of mushy domesticity so im sorry if this seems out of character, i'm just riding high on my obsession with these two and their stupid love for each other. more soon! xoxo</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Will is as rigid as a bedpost during breakfast. </p><p>It has been a week since they first became physically intimate.</p><p>It is also the day before they are flying to America. The flight is shockingly the last thing on his mind. For the past several days, he’s been avoiding Hannibal at every turn, grumbling excuses about an ache in his back so he could retreat to his room, or spending too many hours in the lake until the skin of his fingertips wrinkled. </p><p>He should be focusing on all the things he wants to say to Bedelia. All the skeletons left in the cupboard of their de trop therapy sessions which have been gathering pounds of dust, and yet all Will can focus on is how aroused he is. </p><p>All the time. </p><p>Since he’d touched himself, he’d made the mistake of assuming an orgasm would take the edge off of his interactions with Hannibal. Instead, it heightened them. Every small touch to his shoulder or his hand, every single glance, makes him feel like a teenager again. A volcano which could erupt at any minute. </p><p>Hannibal would tell Will he can’t see the forest for the trees.</p><p>There is an easy fix to this problem. Have sex with Hannibal. His appearance from across the table, tired eyes on his tablet as he chews on some toast with ridiculous bed hair, Will can’t convince himself that he doesn’t want to. </p><p>It isn’t that simple, and they both know it. Hannibal has had no qualms keeping his distance for the past week, in the most likely assumption that Will needs the time to process this new level of intimacy. Even if it were unspoken, it is evident; Will has never been with a man, and he has never been with Hannibal. </p><p>Will is certain Hannibal has no clue he’s been thinking about sex this entire week. He probably thinks that they will be sharing nothing but kisses for months, fleeting moments and romantic rendezvous. He has no clue that Will is nearly going out of his mind, unable to keep intrusive, carnal, thoughts from compounding his brain.</p><p>This is the first day he has not felt so high-strung with his needs. He can smile and make eye contact with Hannibal and his blood doesn’t rush south, tingling with excitement instead. It’s been a few days since they’ve kissed, the avoidance having helped none, and Will wants to kiss him again. Very much so. Yet, it might complicate his short-term vow of abstinence today.</p><p>Fear is also a factor in his stunted arousal. Tomorrow, chances of them getting caught will be much higher than normal. This is a fact, even if the trip is safe. This may be the last time he’ll ever step foot in this house. He knows Hannibal would be disappointed to hear he still has concerns about the plan. Will can’t help but to mull over it, knowing that he’s wasted time the past week focusing on his own dignity rather than focusing on the precious time he may have left with Hannibal. </p><p>“Can I sleep in your bed tonight?” Will asks suddenly. </p><p>Hannibal seems taken aback by the request, and after so many days without contact, he has a right to be. But, he is not displeased. Will can’t mistake the warm relief that seems to momentarily possess him. </p><p>“Yes, I would like that,” Hannibal replies, tablet forgotten by his plate.</p><p>“Don’t get any ideas,” Will scolds lightly. He directs this comment at Hannibal, but he knows it applies more to him. Hannibal has been the perfect gentlemen, unsurprisingly. While Will knows he had been the one to stipulate that he wants to take the initiative, he’s almost frustrated with Hannibal’s lack of it. Hannibal may be comfortable breaking the initiative rule if he knows how easily persuaded Will is in these matters. </p><p>That night, Hannibal takes absolutely zero initiative. He lies on his back, eyes closed, with a hand resting on his stomach while Will awkwardly lays beside him. </p><p>Will thinks back to nights with Molly, the only person who had ever slept in a bed with him for more than one night. After sex, they’d lay in the dark just like this on their backs, and Will would turn on his side first, facing opposite. There were never many words passed between them, and Will used to wonder if that was normal, to be devoid of response after sex. To not want to press up against the other person and bury yourself in their scent, their body. Will had just wanted silence, and sleep. </p><p><em> This </em>isn’t a post-coital moment, and Will doesn’t know what he wants. </p><p>Hannibal isn’t asleep, or if he is, he sleeps like the dead. It is as if Hannibal is resting rather than in a deep slumber, still as a frog before it jumps. </p><p>Will laid down beside him only ten minutes prior, the process of getting into pajamas and into bed extremely clinical. Hannibal had whispered goodnight, and now they’re here. Lack of contact begins to leave a sour taste in Will’s mouth. </p><p>It is all on him. This is possibly one of the last nights they will have together. Hannibal would rebuke that conclusion, but the fact cannot escape Will’s mind. </p><p>He doesn’t want sex, he thinks if they were to get caught it would make that situation extensively worse. He wouldn’t want to be whoever is in his line of sight when they try to pry Hannibal away from him after that. </p><p>Will gathers his courage, remembers Hannibal’s want for him mirrors his own, and he scoots closer, carefully draping an arm over his middle. He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until Hannibal shifts, stretching his arm over Will’s back in response. He lets out a soft sigh and Will settles his check on his sternum. </p><p>They tangle up trying to find the most comfortable position. Hannibal’s nose finds its way into his hair, one of Will’s legs rests between Hannibal’s, and there is no pressure between them. Just skin to skin contact, overheated and exquisite. Hannibal knows what Will needs. </p><p>Arousal steadily simmers beneath his skin, but Will focuses on his fear to keep it at bay. He grips Hannibal tighter, overwhelmed by how possessive he feels holding him.  </p><p>“May I quiet your mind?” Hannibal’s voice is startling in the silence, and Will swallows his apprehension, nodding. The hair on his chest tickling his nose. </p><p>He doesn’t know what Hannibal wants to do, but he’s prepared for it nonetheless. “I have something for you to think about,” he starts, and Will interjects. </p><p>“I’ve been thinking too much.” </p><p>“Something to quiet the worry,” he explains and Will remains silent. “I will promise you that if this mission succeeds, I will get us a dog.”</p><p>This nearly forces Will to sit up. Instead, he cranes his neck back to find Hannibal staring down at him with a serious expression. It isn’t a joke, or an empty affirmation. When they succeed, Hannibal will have to come through on this promise, and Hannibal is absolutely positive that they will succeed. </p><p>It does quiet Will’s mind. The trepidation leaks out of him, and he pictures fuzzy paws and the smell of wet fur and pet food. </p><p>“You’re gonna regret this,” Will mumbles into his skin, feeling infinitely warm. </p><p>Hannibal shakes his head. “Not if it brings you solace.” </p><p>“Don’t make me say ‘I love you’ like it’s the night before we’re shipped off to war. I hate being so cliche,” Will tells him, and it is all the candor Hannibal is going to drag out of him tonight.</p><p>“We are not at war, they are,” he replies after a long stretch of silence. Will doesn’t know if ‘they’ is referring to Bedelia or the FBI or both, but he finds it doesn’t matter in truth. </p><p>Will tightens his grip on Hannibal’s waist, tugging him closer as if he can absorb him. He falls asleep against his firm body, safe and gentle as he is held in reciprocation. </p><p>When they wake, their attention is aimed entirely on packing and driving to the jet plane on time.</p><p>The flight itself is fine, Will is a relatively nervous flier, but flying is nothing he can’t handle. It is the thought of landing in America, crossing the safe borders of his new home, only to enter into stale territory. </p><p>The small room they are in is large for a plane, with several reclining seats. Hannibal and Will sit side by side. Hannibal keeps up irrelevant small talk to keep Will calm. There is even champagne, which Will hadn’t expected for this type of flight. He supposes, a private jet is a private jet no matter the reason for its flightpath. </p><p>At one point, thirty or so minutes into their journey, Hannibal’s hand slides into his and he grips Will securely, unrelenting until the end of their flight. It keeps him shackled to his composure, rickety as it may be.</p><p>Will falls asleep on Hannibal’s shoulder not long after he takes hold of him, and wakes to Hannibal tugging at his shoulder, coaxing him into awareness. </p><p>“We are home, Will,” he says, with a coy hint to his tone.</p><p>“No,” Will counters. “We’re not.” </p><p>The pilot and Hannibal have a short, muttered exchange as Will waits outside of the jet plane.</p><p>The air is cold, night will be falling soon. It tastes different as he breathes it in, foreign to him when it had once been so familiar. There seems to be road for miles extending from this abandoned lot. He wonders futilely how much Hannibal paid for this discretion. </p><p>A black car emerges from the road, driving up to the desolate site just as Hannibal begins to descend from the plane’s stairs, as if on cue. Will watches it roll to a stop in front of them. </p><p>The plan is going exactly as Will had played it out in his head. Chiyoh steps out of the car with a stone cold expression, and a shotgun strapped to her bosom. She exchanges a glance with Hannibal who greets her with, “Konbanwa, Chiyo.” She responds with a minuscule bow, turning her chilly gaze towards Will who begrudgingly manages a small upturn of lips. Even this gesture oozes sarcasm, and she does not appear amused. </p><p>“Disguises in the car,” she tells them curtly, returning to the driver’s seat.</p><p>Will looks back toward the plane, which sits dormant as a marble statue in the open. It will stay here until they drive back tomorrow, hours after Bedelia is dead. He wonders what would happen if Tattlecrime found it, discovered their plan.</p><p>The pilot doesn’t come out, Will’s not even sure if he saw his face.</p><p>“Get in,” she calls to Will who failed to realize Hannibal is already in the backseat, suitcases in the trunk. </p><p>He wonders how they get along, how they ever did in the past. Chiyoh has no patience, whereas Hannibal has all the patience in the world. </p><p>He hops in, and she drives off. </p><p>Will and Hannibal begin changing their clothes. There is no time for steamy glances, and not enough light for it anyway as Will shimmies into new pants, tight leather things he’d never normally wear. Hannibal helps him put on a fake goatee that blends perfectly in with his stubbly beard. Hannibal himself wears a backwards baseball cap, and Will nearly shout-laughs at the sight. He bites his finger instead, barely able to contain his amusement. </p><p>“Would you rather we get caught?” Hannibal grumbles, slipping into a white wife-beater. Even in the dim light, Will has to admit that Hannibal’s muscles look fantastic in the shirt. </p><p>“Remind me to buy you more of those when we get back,” Will says, unable to take his eyes off the shirt. Christ, he can practically see his nipples through the fabric, perky and crimson. </p><p>Hannibal gives him an incredulous look as if to say, <em> You think I’ll wear them willingly? </em> But he remains silent. </p><p>Will is in a t-shirt that rides up to reveal his belly button. He has the stomach for it, even if it’s not quite a crop top. If Jack Crawford saw him head-on, he might not even assume it’s him. Will wouldn’t be caught dead wearing one of these. </p><p>Chiyoh’s eyes stay on the road the entire time, her lips sealed. </p><p>Will isn’t sure if she doesn’t want to talk, or has something else on her mind. She’d barely said a word on the boat, for the short amount of time she had been there. Will found his curiosity about her relationship with Hannibal mostly died when she showed rather stupendously just how reluctant she is to talk with Will about any subject after the train incident. </p><p>Will reaches forward and loosens a strand of hair from where it was trapped under the velcro strap of Hannibal’s hat, and it falls delicately above his brows. “Just a little disarray,” he explains, and Hannibal looks at him, vigorously fond. </p><p>It is an hour and thirty minutes until they reach the motel. Will had trusted Hannibal to pick a suitable one for the both of them, had trusted him so thoroughly that he has no clue where they will be stopping, even as they pull into the parking lot. It would be smart in the future to raise his defenses just a smidge and not trust so deeply, but even that seems futile.</p><p>Chiyoh checks in for them while they hang outside by the car. Hannibal had to remind her to leave her shotgun in the trunk. </p><p>Will ducks and shifts as if there were prying eyes, but the lot is desolate save for two cars on the other end of the motel. Hannibal rests calmly against the trunk, taking in the scenery as if they were in an art gallery. Will has a strong urge to yell at him. </p><p>Chiyoh returns with two key cards. She is staying in a separate room. </p><p>“Kon'ya wa sukoshi nemuritaidesu,” she says sharply. Will narrows his eyes a bit, the monkey part of his brain attempting to translate a language he does not understand. He narrows his eyes to slits when Hannibal chuckles, and responds amicably.</p><p>“Shinpaishinaide kudasai.”</p><p>Chiyoh does not respond, tossing a black satchel at Hannibal before vanishing into room fourteen. Their room is room fifteen, right next door.</p><p>Will turns to Hannibal, expecting a translation, and is disappointed when he says, “Go get the luggage, Will.”</p><p>When he manages to lug the suitcases inside, he mumbles, “I remember when you could afford bell boys.” There are two beds, but he doesn’t plan to use both. </p><p>“Hush,” Hannibal says gently, and drags his own suitcase to the furthest bed away from the window. Will mirrors the action, and Hannibal responds with a small smile he shields from him by turning to draw the curtains. “Chiyoh brought what I requested of her.” </p><p>Will fondles the objects in the bag. “Tranquilizers, guns, knives, granola bars,” he then croons, “One of these is not like the others.” </p><p>Hannibal bows his head towards the satchel at the mention of food. </p><p>“I almost forgot,” he says, chipper as he tosses bars at him. “Here Will, you’ll need your strength for tomorrow.” </p><p>“Oh, how you spoil me,” Will mutters sarcastically, taking the one that contains cranberries and white chocolate. Hannibal takes a plain one, but even he can’t escape the additives of sugar and honey. They munch together in silence, on the edge of the bed they’ve claimed. </p><p>“Would you care to go over the plan again?” Hannibal asks when they are finished. He takes the wrappers to the trash bin. “You seem like you’ve cooled down.”</p><p>“This room is a sanctuary. I’m sure I’ll panic once we’re on the road again.”</p><p>“Will you panic in Bedelia’s house?”</p><p>Will cocks his head in thought. “No,” he says with finality. “I think I’ll be too wired.” </p><p>Hannibal leans down and kisses his forehead, whispering that he’s going to take a shower. Will nods, startling adoration for him making itself known for the first time today. He’s felt warm, but not as <em> held </em>as he does now, even without Hannibal’s touch. </p><p>Will takes a shower after him, and they end up in bed, disguises stripped as well as their shirts and pants. Will hadn’t been planning on bringing no pajama bottoms. He’s used to sleeping without them, but there is more skin touching tonight than there had been last night. Hannibal is only wearing his briefs as well. </p><p>“Calvin Klein?” Will had exclaimed before climbing in beside him. </p><p>“They are comfortable,” Hannibal merely replied, reaching for him so he could tuck Will under his arm. </p><p>It is silent for a while, and the air is still different even inside. It is all surreal, and Will can hardly believe they’re actually in the United States. </p><p>Hannibal strokes his hair, as if he knows Will’s thoughts are running rampant, and it is soothing for a while, so much so that he feels his heartbeat quicken. </p><p>Will leans up to kiss Hannibal once, perhaps to say goodnight, or just out of a momentary flash of affection, but he kisses him twice, three times, until his leg is shifting up, brushing against the fabric of Hannibal’s briefs, and Will’s eyes widen when he hears the gasp that this draws out of him.</p><p>Will brings up a hand to cup Hannibal’s cheek, throwing any rational thought out the window as he begins kissing him thoroughly. He’d missed this the past week, and he can feel the coil in his gut unraveling, making him needy as he presses against him, barely rolling his hips, but just enough to make him breathless, enough to make him quiver. </p><p>They can’t do this, not here in a musty motel room. Definitely not the day before they murder Bedelia, but Will can’t stop. He’s straddling Hannibal now, doesn’t know when his whole body decided to move entirely on top of him, but he can feel the hard press of Hannibal’s cock and it spurs him on. He brushes the hair out of his eyes, trying not to choke on a moan which threatens to fall from his lips.</p><p>“Will,” Hannibal says brokenly, and his voice is so perfect like this that Will can’t help the automatic sway of his hips. Their erections nudge against each other, sending a chill up his spine. </p><p>“I know,” Will replies and he sounds crazed. He painstakingly slows his kisses, halting the roll of his hips. “I’m sorry, I know.” </p><p>He slides off of Hannibal, but they’re both so high-strung now that one glance causes them to lean back in to kiss each other again, wet tongues and lips colliding, setting off firecrackers. They’re barely able to stay a few inches apart. Hannibal’s hand reaches his waist, and this time he doesn’t pull away. Not for a few moments. </p><p>“We can’t,” Will caves. “Not here.” </p><p>Hannibal nods, staring at him with dark eyes. Even without a light on, his pupils appear to swallow the reddish brown part of his irises, and it leaves Will feeling more like a puddle than a man. </p><p>“I want you when we’re home,” Will tries to convey all he is feeling into just this one sentence, that he wants Hannibal, that he refuses to make love to him in this dreary place, that if they for whatever reason get caught, he will suffer endlessly if they go through with this now. It would be imperfect timing. </p><p>Hannibal agrees, without a nod or a response. Will can see that he does. </p><p>They are still somewhat tangled up, and Will’s cock throbs against Hannibal’s thigh, the only part of him that doesn’t seem to understand the situation. </p><p>“Damn,” Will mumbles. </p><p>“Perhaps it would be easier if one of us took the other bed.” Hannibal’s voice is rough, a mixture of exhaustion and arousal. His skin is radiating heat and it’s hard not to crawl into it and be swallowed up. </p><p>“Yeah,” Will kisses him, vowing it to be the last. “Yeah, I’ll go.” </p><p>He doesn’t go. Hannibal’s hand is resting against his arm, and he can’t help but kiss him again, on the jaw as if that helps. He grumbles when he feels Hannibal’s tongue and lips swerve down to meet his own. Will shoves him away.</p><p>“Stop being so compliant.” </p><p>“I am powerless to stop you,” Hannibal capitulates, splayed out flat against the bed with his eyes trained on him, and this time Will does get up and crosses the room to the other bed, not looking back once. </p><p>The image is seared into his mind, he could have been swept away in seconds if he’d kept his eyes on the way he looked stretched out like that, waiting for him. </p><p>“Goodnight.” Will’s firm finality doesn’t beget a response, and he is able to adjust his painfully hard cock to a more comfortable position.</p><p>He judiciously tries to keep his mind off of the places he’s sweating and tingling, and he has to manually force his panting breaths to become something more steady and natural. He can feel Hannibal’s eyes burning a hole into his skull, but he doesn’t turn around to meet them. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Will does not wake up thinking about sex. </p><p>He doesn’t have the luxury. They spend the day languidly preparing for nightfall. Will dresses in the black suit he’d bought in Argentina, and a red button up Hannibal had bought along with it. It comes with a black tie, and Hannibal spends nearly an hour styling Will’s hair to perfection. It feels more like they’re going to the opera than preparing to kill Bedelia Du Maurier. </p><p>He can’t focus on the blunt movements of Hannibal’s fingertips against his scalp, his brain is lost in a sea of possibilities. What to do with Bedelia when they drop in, what to say. </p><p>Hannibal’s suit is maroon, almost the inverse of Will’s suit save for the white stripes on his tie. He resembles how he looked when he was a psychiatrist in Baltimore. It makes Will’s blood run cold. </p><p>He isn’t as skilled a hairdresser as Hannibal, but he still helps with a comb, trying to be his mirror so they don’t have to use the grungy one in the bathroom covered in fingerprints. </p><p>“Chiyoh is waiting in the car,” Hannibal tells him, when afternoon rolls into evening. It is perhaps the third sentence he has spoken all day, and Will’s stomach lurches for food. Dinner will come soon, he tells himself as he follows Hannibal outside. </p><p>They are not coming back to this room, and leaving it is no problem. It was merely a resting stop before the big event. </p><p>Will packs away their suitcases and bags, and hops into the backseat with Hannibal. Even in brighter daylight, the tinted windows don’t allow for much of a view inside the car, or out. </p><p>Chiyoh says nothing while she drives to Bedelia’s house. Hannibal had given her the address over the phone days prior, and there is a severe anticipation brimming in the air that she apparently does not want to pry into. </p><p>Will feels deadly, losing himself along the darker winding paths in his mind as they drive. He stares out the window and distantly thinks about the familiarity of America, of the English language, of the people. </p><p>They drive by a couple with a dog, and he remembers Hannibal’s promise. </p><p>He does not have the momentum to feel joy towards the far off gift. </p><p>Fear is almost foreign to him in this fugue state, even when he woke up, he had been decided about this killing. The worst parts of the trip are over, the only remaining destination being the reason they are here, and then he will be free to go home, back to his comfortable existence with Hannibal in the middle of nowhere, with their big lake, and their fence, and the miles of trees in between. </p><p>Their house and their life do not feel as far out of reach as they had yesterday. </p><p>Chiyoh stops ten minutes away from Bedelia’s house, walking distance. Far enough that it is not suspicious for a car to stop and drop two people off, and close enough that there isn’t any time for someone to recognize them. </p><p>“Call if there’s an issue. I cannot promise anything,” Chiyoh says, not sparing Will a glance as she rolls the window of the driver’s seat back up and takes off down the road. </p><p>They go down a path that is out of the way of pedestrians, through some forestry areas behind the neighbors close to Bedelia’s. Will feels foolish stepping through branches and dirt in this suit, and Hannibal looks foolish beside him. It suddenly all feels very real when they’re standing in the backyard of Bedelia’s home, staring at the back door like the Red Dragon had watched families from the trees.</p><p>“Are you ready?” Hannibal asks him. <em> Do you remember our plan? </em> is left unspoken. </p><p>“Always,” Will says under his breath, following Hannibal to the back of the house. </p><p>Hannibal heads to the front door, and Will goes in through the back entrance, so they can attack from both angles if need be. Will’s mission as well as Hannibal’s is first and foremost, to get Bedelia sedated. </p><p>Will takes the syringe from his pocket, filled to the brim with dripping liquid. He squeezes some of the excess out, curling it around his fingers to grip it tight as he stalks through her house quietly. He had taken his shoes off at the door as Hannibal had instructed. Socks make for better stealth, and he can always come back for them before dinner. </p><p>He hears muffled speaking, and panics momentarily, thinking she has guests. He then recognizes Hannibal’s voice drifting in from the living room as he grows closer. She had spotted him before he had the chance to inject her, and she is responding to him in the only way she knows how to preserve her dignity; with an elegant, calm, pretense. </p><p>This had also been discussed, hence both of them coming in from different directions. Hannibal keeps her eyes trained on him while Will carefully sneaks up from behind. He is in the living room now, unnoticed, and can hear Bedelia speaking to him loud and clear. </p><p>“Where exactly have you been hiding? I wouldn’t think you foolish enough to return to Florence, Germany perhaps? I thought you might have paid me a visit before escaping to wherever it was you escaped to,” Bedelia says smugly, and Hannibal’s responsive smug expression easily bounces off of hers. </p><p>“I do believe telling you would not be beneficial for me, Bedelia,” Hannibal says, and just as Will’s got the syringe in her neck, he adds, “or my darling Will.” </p><p>Bedelia’s eyes, despite the momentary flash of pure shock, fall slowly closed. Her body becomes limp, sluggish as she slumps to the floor in an ungraceful position. </p><p>“Don’t call me darling again,” Will barks at him, though struggles to make it come across as angry. Hannibal merely smiles, helping him move Bedelia to the middle of the room. </p><p>“I got carried away,” he replies in smooth innocence. </p><p>They stretch out a large swath of plastic wrap Chiyoh had packed for them. Together, they carry Bedelia’s body and place it atop the wrap. Hannibal removes the needed tools from the bag, and they set to work slowly dismembering one of her legs from her body. </p><p>Will watches with an apt gaze as Hannibal barely breaks a sweat cutting through bone, twisting the leg off easily as it hangs on by one loose tendon. Will wraps up the leg before anymore blood can spill out on the plastic. They are not here to make a mess. This requires a more calculated approach. </p><p>Hannibal prepares the leg in the kitchen, not wasting a moment of their time. </p><p>The drugs may wear off sooner than they think. This thought kicks Will into motion, and he travels throughout the house, eventually stumbling across her bedroom. She keeps all her formal wear in her closet, and he picks a lacy navy blue dress with a deep v-cut. It is the only dress with a slit down the side; when she wears it, ignoring her missing leg will be near impossible. He couldn’t dream of a worse indecency. </p><p>Will wanders into the kitchen when he is finished placing her at the table, adorned in her new evening wear. Hannibal is dialing a burner phone, and he explains before Will can even ponder what he’s doing.</p><p>“Checking with Chiyoh to make sure the plans with the jet are still on schedule.” </p><p>Will nods in understanding, glancing once to the leg in the oven, before gathering utensils and plates. “Konnichiwa, Chiyoh,” he hears Hannibal say. </p><p>He sets the table while Hannibal continues to attend to things in the kitchen. It is almost like a waltz. They memorized the steps before the big show. Bedelia danced with the Devil, and now it is his turn. </p><p>Will returns to the kitchen when he senses Bedelia starting to stir. The leg has already been roasted and set on the table, and Hannibal is picking the perfect wine to pair it with. For someone Will had almost considered a fellow alcoholic, Bedelia has a poor selection of drinks. </p><p>“She’s awake.” </p><p>Hannibal irritably forces himself to choose one, even if it’s not ideal. Will turns to head out into the dining room but Hannibal catches his arm. </p><p>“Will,” he starts, voice stilted. “Bedelia is like most individuals, except her fight or flight instincts are sharper, more refined.”</p><p>Will frowns. “She isn’t stronger than us.” </p><p>“With her words, she may very well be,” Hannibal clarifies. </p><p>Hannibal is not afraid. He is Hannibal, after all. He does seem on edge, perhaps belatedly realizing Bedelia has just as many means of poking and prodding at Will’s mind as he does. They are equally talented psychiatrists.</p><p>For a moment, he resents being the playtoy passed around by one dog to another. </p><p>Instead of reassuring Hannibal with empty promises, he leans up to kiss him. Bedelia may very well push too many of his buttons, and she may reveal truths about Will even he hadn’t considered. What she won’t be able to do is take away what Will feels towards Hannibal. </p><p>Hannibal is still tense, but he accepts the kiss graciously, mournfully brushing the backs of his knuckles over Will’s cheek. </p><p>“Let’s go,” Will says, taking Hannibal’s hand. “Together.” </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The first several minutes of dinner are spent in silence. </p><p>Will and Hannibal eat their portion of leg as if it were the most normal thing in the world. It feels normal to Will, which is what is most shocking about the ordeal. </p><p>Bedelia seems to be fully coming out of her haze of drugs when her eyes start to lose that glazed over veil. </p><p>Hannibal looks at her expectantly, and she raises a fork she had been gripping under the table, and stabs it gracelessly into her portion of meat. Will wonders if she had been wielding the fork as a weapon, deciding only now that her efforts would be fruitless if she tried anything drastic. She finally slips a morsel into her mouth, and Will can see the moment she tastes herself. Her eyes close, and she takes a moment to agonize through the urge to vomit. </p><p>“Tasty?” Will knows he sounds smug. It is anything but polite, and yet he’s not too concerned with Bedelia’s comfort this evening.  </p><p>“If I were blind,” Bedelia admits crudely.</p><p>“I am satisfied that we can all share dinner,” Hannibal says, unaware of Will’s brimming hatred catapulting towards her in waves. “I don’t believe the three of us have ever had one together.”</p><p>“It is,” Bedelia swallows. “Unsurprising.” </p><p>The three of them continue eating, Bedelia forcing herself to get down as much as she can, knowing that they won’t take ‘no’ for an answer if she refuses. </p><p>“I don’t suppose you’re going to enlighten me on how you survived such a catastrophe?” Bedelia prods, eyes trained on Hannibal, but Will knows she’s focused on him in her peripheral. </p><p>“Dead men tell no tales,” Will drawls. </p><p>Hannibal smiles at him, ever one to appreciate his colloquialisms. </p><p>Bedelia is not amused, and she is regaining her strength with every passing minute. After she finishes half her plate, she believes the feat sufficient, and places her fork down. For Hannibal’s sake, Will won’t forcefully stuff the rest of it down her throat. </p><p>“When you kill me, they will realize you’re alive. I’m sure you already surmised this much,” she states. “You want them to know.” </p><p>“We’re killing two birds with one stone,” Will tells her simply. “We’re tying up loose ends, while also making sure you stay quiet. We have assets to protect now.” </p><p>Bedelia raises a brow, and Will notices her wine glass has been untouched. </p><p>“I do know you prefer to <em> crush </em>birds in your hands, not with sticks and stone,” he adds with a smirk and Bedelia scoffs. </p><p>“It is clear to me now that you will be each other’s downfall.”</p><p>Hannibal speaks up then, “We fell as far as we could, Bedelia. The only way to go is up.”</p><p>The words ring vociferously in Will’s ears. The truth to them resonates, and the taste of Bedelia’s cooked leg in his mouth sparks with new flavor. Triumph. </p><p>Bedelia focuses on Will an almost unnerving amount. “You prefer the pain of living with him, rather than the empty agony that comes with living without him.”</p><p>Hannibal tilts his head to the side, thoughtful. “Until the very end, Will weighed his options, and made the decision of a righteous man, casting us both into the sea. He allowed fate to substantiate his becoming, rather than choose it himself.” </p><p>“Instead of outrunning the overwhelming madness which used to plague my every thought, my every second, I gave in,” Will adds. “Much less painful that way.” Bedelia absorbs this as more of an acquiescence than he does. </p><p>“You gave up,” she accuses bluntly. “You told me your wife was aware of the level of intimacy you share with Hannibal, and yet I am forced to wonder what she would think of the display I see before me?” </p><p>Will flinches at that, he can’t help it. He doesn’t like to imagine what Molly would say to him if she saw him now, at Hannibal’s side as if she were expendable, just a means of getting here, to the monstrosity he’d yearned after for three years under the guise of a doting husband. Bedelia can see she’s sunk her hooked claws into him, and she starts tugging at the punctured skin. </p><p>“What will you do when you can no longer satiate his hunger?” she asks. </p><p>Will turns to face her completely, confusion apparent on his face. She continues ruthlessly. </p><p>“I needn’t explain to you that Hannibal has no qualms with killing the innocent and will do so even when you do not prefer him to. Though, I have a suspicion considering where I am right in this instant, that he will or has already convinced you to take a life, perhaps a life you weren’t ready to take. His hunger for that type of life will be balanced, soon, I’m sure,” </p><p>Bedelia casts her eyes on Hannibal who sips his wine, unexpressive. </p><p>“You have become what he has been molding you to become, and I suspect not long from now, he will have grown accustomed to your mental pathways and circuits. He’ll have memorized how every gear in your head turns.” She speaks directly to Hannibal now. “You do not attract to people, you attract to unfinished jigsaw puzzles. One can only stare so long at a polished image.” </p><p>Will had been prepared for this, Bedelia’s mind games, but his preparation doesn’t account for the grief caused, and the words bleed deeper into his bloodstream than he thought possible. He stares at a fixed point on the table, one of the silver utensils which reflects light straight into his eyes. It is so bright he should look away, but he sits stiffly, watching. </p><p>“You talk from personal experience, Bedelia,” Hannibal tells her, unaffected. </p><p>“Perhaps,” she concedes. “I know that I am not him. I have always known that, even when you took me to bed, and I knew you would pretend otherwise.”</p><p>This is stated so matter-of-factly that Will can’t help but feel the pointed sting of embarrassment, and his legs bounce under the table. He’s barely holding himself back from slitting her throat or attacking her with his bare hands. He could rip the soft blonde hair from her scalp, spitefully watch blood pour from it. </p><p>She continues pricking at them like a thorn.</p><p>“In Florence, I experienced firsthand, the deterioration of your passion. I interested you for a time, but as with all things that interest you, I began to...uninterest you.” </p><p>“Were you always so brusque?” Hannibal asks, his voice gone cold. “I would have assumed you’d think spending three years in a cage would prove my devotion.” </p><p>“Or perhaps you’re just willing to go to extensive lengths to play your little games,” Bedelia bites out, no longer holding back. </p><p>Will disconnected himself from this exchange for a few minutes, and he forces himself into the focus, and steps in. “We did not come here to discuss whether or not Hannibal and I are suited for each other, I’m sure there’s thirty five thousand or so individuals at the FBI who would join your stance against us, and I don’t really give a shit.” </p><p>Vulgar language is not found in the types of circles Bedelia and Hannibal attend, and yet Will is not in the mood to cater to their carefully crafted, aristocratic, diction. </p><p>“In fact, we’re here to give you a choice. You can choose Hannibal or you can choose me. Whose hand would you care to die by?” he asks. </p><p>Will can feel Hannibal’s eyes on him and he refuses to look. </p><p>Bedelia is stunned into silence, perhaps fully understanding for the first time tonight that she will be dead come morning. Just another corpse to add to Freddie Lounds’ ‘Murder Husbands Victims’ docket. </p><p>“In order to nudge you into choosing, we will promise a horribly painful death if you do not pick,” Hannibal tells her, tone edging on ecstatic. </p><p>It takes her only a few seconds more until she says calmly, “Hannibal, it only seems fitting that you will do the honors, considering you’ve spent so much time weaving yourself into my existence. You should be the one to unweave yourself from it.” </p><p>“Very well then.”</p><p>“It’s a shame,” Will deadpans. “I wouldn’t have shown mercy. I was looking forward to it.” </p><p>Bedelia shoots him with one of her token apathetic stares before leaning back in her chair and waiting for Hannibal to come reap her soul. </p><p>Will holds back several scathing remarks, many of which include how pathetic she is to go without a fight. The forgiving part of him has to admit that it’s fair, considering she knows she can’t run away, or overpower them in a brawl. He watches carefully as Hannibal approaches her with a clean knife. </p><p>He leans over her, and she leans back synchronically, like two magnets. The sight makes Will’s skin crawl.</p><p>“At the risk of sounding too cliche, would you care to have last words?” Hannibal asks politely. </p><p>Bedelia glances at Will, not pleading for her life, but pleading something else entirely. He struggles to stare back, eye contact significantly more difficult than it is with Hannibal. </p><p>“He is poison,” she tells him, and nods up at Hannibal as if to end her sentence. </p><p>She stares into the middle distance and closes her eyes, and Hannibal whispers something in her ear as the knife finds her throat, not cutting through flesh yet, just pressing. Time seems to slow until her eyes shoot open, and Hannibal swipes the knife across her delicate honey-smooth skin. Whatever Hannibal told her died with her. Blood splatters lightly, some droplets get on Will’s suit, and sink into the black pattern, barely a stain. The rest oozes out from the gash in her neck, a thick dark color in the candlelight. </p><p>Relief astounds Will in its sudden abundance. He slumps back into the chair, not even realizing he’d been holding his breath. Hannibal is watching him now, bloody knife forgotten on the table.</p><p>“Shall we?” he asks. <em> Are you okay? </em> Is a question left unsaid. </p><p>Will nods once, not making eye contact with him. </p><p>The rest of the night is procedural. </p><p>It is fortunate Bedelia still has a staghead in one of her studies. Hannibal had remembered it there from three years ago, and Will had been positive she would have gotten rid of it, but then again, stags don’t remind others of Hannibal as clearly as they do Will. </p><p>They hang the stag’s antlers in the dining room, impaling her on the ends of it. They aren’t sharp, but Hannibal smartly uses the knife to aid them in puncturing through her body. Her spine is arched forward, her neck craned back where she is presented above her roasted leg. </p><p>Hannibal cuts her open, prying her ribs apart with brute force. Will hears a snap. </p><p>Though they have spent a copious amount of time touching the past week, Hannibal now touches Will as if he were a skittish stray hound. His hand slides over Will’s and Will complacently allows him to drag his hand forward, placing it on Bedelia’s inert heart. It is still hot to the touch.</p><p>Together, they rip her heart out of her body, and blood splatters on the both of them this time. Will can taste the iron, and it makes him see red, tingling with bloodlust down to his toes. For a moment, he was on the bluff again. </p><p>When Jack comes, however long that will be from now, he will find Bedelia just like this. Splayed open, heart missing, and tied to her arm with thin rope. It is almost derivative to an insulting extent, but when Bedelia’s concerned, Will prefers insult over adulation. </p><p>She is wearing her heart on her sleeve, but this represents his heart and Hannibal’s, beating as one. </p><p>“Uncle Jack will delight in this treat we have left him,” Hannibal muses, admiring their work. Will admires it too, silently. He feels distanced from the room despite this, Bedelia’s words still haunting him.</p><p>“Are we on schedule?” Will manages to grit out. </p><p>Hannibal checks his watch. “Yes. Just on time.” </p><p>They pack their things hurriedly, and walk as fast as they can without looking suspicious down the path they came from. When Will sees Chiyoh, he feels a spike of adrenaline, but it doesn’t feel as good as he expected. Old fears resurface and Will feels nauseous towards every aspect of his situation. It makes him feel ill further when a part of his mind he thought he’d buried agrees with what Bedelia had said.</p><p>Bedelia, who he holds contempt for. Bedelia, who stole his life. </p><p>In the car, Hannibal doesn’t try to make him speak. Even though Will is sure he looks nothing nearing a sight for sore eyes, Hannibal doesn’t pry. Allows him to stew, and contemplate if he so wishes. </p><p>In the jet, when it takes off and Will allows himself to let go of fragments of tension, that is when Hannibal puts a hand on his shoulder and asks, “How are you faring?” </p><p>Will shrugs his hand off, feeling momentarily guilty. He shoves the remorse down and stands, sitting on the opposite side of the plane. He can’t bring himself to care when he feels Hannibal’s eyes on him, strained and confused. Bedelia’s words continue to persist. </p><p>
  <em> You do not attract to people, you attract to unfinished jigsaw puzzles. One can only stare so long at a polished image. </em>
</p><p>Will picks at the skin around his nails. He glances out the window and finds no solid ground, only airy depth and frothy clouds. </p><p>“I’ll be okay,” Will mutters finally, staring at the back of the seat in front of him, but directing towards Hannibal. He can’t comfort Hannibal with affirmations such as, <em> It’s not you </em> , or, <em> I just need some time </em>. </p><p>He doesn’t know how much time he’ll need to bury Bedelia’s words with her. He doesn’t know how to tell Hannibal he’s feeling resentment, all over again, after all they’ve gone through. </p><p>The worst part is that Hannibal will understand. </p><p>He will forgive him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>sorry this came out a bit later than usual, i got a little busy, and i'm also sorry that it landed on an angsty note. i hope it's not a spoiler to say that sexy times are coming extremelyyyyy soon so don't worry i'm not trying to drag it out into the very end, but you gotta jump some hoops to get there you know ;) i'm a little proud of this chapter, i hope you guys like it as well!! xoxo</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> The arch of Bedelia’s back is unnatural, and against all standards of reality and physics, there are hundreds of antlers puncturing through her body, not just through her chest. Through her thighs, forehead, wrists. Blood seeps from every hole, but she is bathed in black, not in red.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Her heart is no longer tied to her sleeve, it is beating, in her chest.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Her body convulses as if she’s being tugged back and forth. It continues and continues until her body is wracked with jerky movements. Her eyes fly open; she is alive and vengeful. Her eyes are white, void of life and void of soul. Will watches apathetically, screaming in his mind to move or run. Bedelia grows closer, the stag head jolting her forward until she’s face to face with him.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Poison,” she says, though her lips don’t move.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Will’s blood scorches under his skin, and he is on fire without the bright company of a flame. He yearns to scream like he yearns to breath, but Bedelia absorbs into him, a splash of ebony blood enveloping him, suffocating him as smoke would.</em>
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</p><p>Will wakes with a start, sweating profusely. With shaking hands, he throws his sheets off of him to let his body breath. He is trembling down to his toes. </p><p>Lately, Will has been dreaming often. </p><p>It is nearly every night closing in on two weeks since Bedelia’s murder, Will has woken to the same conditions. Cold sweats are the product of the nightmarish images he conjures up in his sleep. It’s maddening. </p><p>There is not a shred of remorse for Bedelia’s death that he can discern out of the ill-felt mix of fettering emotions in his gut, and in turn, he has been having difficulty figuring out why he continues to see her. What’s worse, is he doesn’t know why he has to <em> hear </em>her voice like that, on a loop. </p><p>Mournfully, he glances at the other side of his empty bed, at the quilt stained with sweat. He had moved back to his own room when they’d returned home. He hasn’t touched Hannibal since then, can’t bring himself too. Hannibal has social acumen enough to know not to push Will into touching him, or even talking to him. </p><p>Perhaps a little too much acumen. Will wishes he’d come up with the answers, but Hannibal keeps a respectable amount of distance between them like it’s a contest. </p><p>Talking has become sparse the last couple weeks. </p><p>They talk at breakfast and dinner. Will isn’t in the house for lunch, but he’s sure if he were, the conversations to be had in the afternoon would mirror the other conversations they’ve been having. Weather, fishing, or grocery trips, idle chit chat that doesn’t stimulate either of their social needs quite enough. Will always wants to say something more, words on the tip of his tongue, but when he makes eye contact with Hannibal, he freezes up, and the ugly mixture of discomforting feelings builds up until he needs to drink something to aid his dry throat. </p><p>Will stumbles his way to the shower, hisses when cold water hits his skin, pummeling him with the astringent pressure of it. He washes up quickly, brushes his teeth and heads down for breakfast all the while cursing the utilities in the house for being too damn efficient. </p><p>Hannibal is at the dining table, dressed for the town. He is going on a trip today to restock their wine cabinet. He hasn’t asked Will to join him, most likely because he already knows the answer. </p><p>Normally, he at least asks him to join him at the table, and Will complies.</p><p>Today, he doesn’t even ask that much and Will realizes he has the option to leave if he wants, bring his food to his room, or the study, or anywhere else less perilous. Despite the numb feelings still causing the knot to tighten somewhere deep in his chest, he decides he doesn’t want to go anywhere else and sits down. </p><p>Hannibal eyes his glass of water and plate of toast. </p><p>“You should be having juice,” he tells him. “You need your Vitamin C.” </p><p>“I drank juice maybe three times a year before I met you. I think I can survive without it for one day,” Will responds, and for the first time since they’ve come home, he feels like something resembling normal. </p><p>There is silence as Will starts eating and Hannibal finishes up his omelette.</p><p>The days will continue to repeat on an endless agonizing loop if Will doesn’t try to change things. He needs to understand why Bedelia is haunting him in his sleep, why he’s been waking up the way he used to no more than three years ago.</p><p>“I’ve been having nightmares again,” Will says quietly. </p><p>Hannibal straightens his posture, suppressing his intrigue for Will’s sake. </p><p>“How long has this been going on?” </p><p>“Since,” Will swallows, gathering his faculties. “Since we got back. The first night after we killed Bedelia.” </p><p>Hannibal looks thoughtful. “Are they plaguing you, Will?” </p><p>“I…” Will shakes his head. “I don’t wake up afraid. She torments me only while I sleep, but when I wake she is gone. I just wake up cold, sweating, unrested.” </p><p>“Why are you telling me?” Hannibal asks, and it is aggravatingly gentle. Will clicks his tongue, and lets out a shuddering sigh. </p><p>“Because I want to feel close to you again,” he says, cracks in his voice. “I can’t do that unless I stop seeing her, hearing her, in my mind.” </p><p>Hannibal blinks, and his lips part. It takes him a minute to respond, finally saying, “I would like to feel close to you again too, Will.” </p><p>Will averts his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he says. He means it, even if he has been unable to admit as much these past several days. He doesn’t like hurting Hannibal, not in this way. With every passing day, his heart feels more and more strained, like he’s on the verge of a heart attack. It is upsetting, but the idea of contact right now bothers him more than the continuance of the pain. </p><p>“Do not feel obligated to apologize,” Hannibal replies sincerely. Will knew he would be this way, accepting and understanding of his situation. It makes him grind his teeth and bite his tongue to hold back instinctive, scathing, remarks. </p><p>His instincts have always been to bite rather than to soothe. </p><p>Hannibal continues with a satisfied rise of his cheeks, “Your unpredictability has always endeared me, and this is no different. Take as much time as you need to find yourself again, Will. I will be here to help along the way if you request that of me.” </p><p>Will wants to accept the compliment, feel grateful for it, but the unpredictability comment reminds him of what Bedelia had said to him. That Hannibal can only be intrigued by him for so long, that after a while, a finished puzzle will no longer be enough for him. Will frowns, staring down at his half finished toast. </p><p>“You’re going into town today?” Will questions blankly. </p><p>“Yes.” </p><p>“Can we talk when you get back?” he asks, not daring to look Hannibal in the eyes. “I need you to be my psychiatrist for just a while longer. If that’s alright with you,” he is unable to help adding a vaguely sarcastic, “Doctor Lecter.” </p><p>He can tell Hannibal wants to touch him, reassure him with a hand on his shoulder, or in his hair. Or even a kiss, if he knew Will would accept it. Will wants to want it. Right now, he feels so disconnected from those needs that it doesn’t spark anything within him. He keeps seeing Bedelia’s face, her still beating heart, the bloodied antlers of the staghead. </p><p>Hannibal eventually settles on an affirmative, “Of course. Call me if you need me.” </p><p>Will nods, and Hannibal takes his dishes to the kitchen. He is gone within the next hour, and Will knows he won’t be seeing him again until the evening. He throws out the rest of his food since Hannibal isn’t here to make a fuss about waste, washes his dishes and heads into the study. </p><p>There are no windows in the study; it’s always made Will feel secure. He toys around on the piano, completely absent of any musical training. Everything he plays sounds off-key and he gives himself a good laugh, perhaps the first one since he’s come home. </p><p>He reads a book for a few hours, shirking on his fishing responsibilities. He likes to spend his time around the house while Hannibal is gone, even when he is not feeling distant from him. There is a serenity that comes with being alone; it reminds him of his time spent in Wolftrap. </p><p>The afternoon ticks closer to evening when he opens Hannibal’s tablet, and searches the web for recipes. He idly wonders if Hannibal would appreciate Will making a meal for him. Perhaps that is a way he can start to feel at ease again. He puts it on his mental checklist before refreshing the Tattlecrime tab that is almost always open. It is a habit shared by the both of them.</p><p>He nearly drops the tablet when he sees the newest headline courtesy of Freddie Lounds. He places it down on the coffee table and dials Hannibal’s number. He never calls him at the store, and Hannibal’s voice comes across as concerned when he picks up.</p><p>“Will?” </p><p>“Are you on your way home?” Will rushes out.</p><p>“Soon–”</p><p>“I don’t want you to worry,” Will says first, because otherwise Hannibal might commit a hit and run if he doesn’t preface his next message with this. “But, you should hurry home.” </p><p>“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Hannibal tells him, voice an octave lower. He is the one that hangs up, and Will wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t even go to the checkout, drops all the wines on the nearest table, and heads to the car immediately. </p><p>Hannibal makes it home in record time; he can hear him bustling through the front door not thirty minutes after the call and Will knows for certain he drove over the speed limit. He finds Will in the study and rushes to him, hands cold from the wind outside, gripping his bare arms. “Are you alright?” he asks frantically. </p><p>Will forces himself not to pull away. He nods once, “I’m fine. Sit.” </p><p>Hannibal sits, and slips off his trenchcoat. He’d been in too much of a rush to place it on the coat hanger by the front door. Will sits beside him and opens his tablet to the last page he’d been on. </p><p>“Ah,” Hannibal sighs in relief. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>MURDER HUSBANDS ALIVE AND ON THE LAMB SEND GRUESOME VALENTINE TO THE FBI TO MARK THEIR RETURN!</b>
</p><p> </p><p>There is an accompanying picture of the crime scene, and two dated pictures of their faces. For a moment, Will wonders how he ever looked so miserable. </p><p>“Freddie Lounds released this information before the FBI even had the chance to make a statement,” Will says, irritated, yet always impressed by her abilities as a journalist. </p><p>“Jack has found our gift,” Hannibal muses. “I wonder what he plans to do.” </p><p>“I’m sure Tattlecrime will be strife full of news articles about us,” Will adds. He solemnly imagines Molly reading about him, and then shakes the thoughts from his mind. Molly will stay clear of the news, he knows her well. She doesn’t want her son to find anything like this in her hands, and she won’t want to hear about it in the words of someone such as Lounds. She’ll wait for Jack to call and get the information from him </p><p>“It’s only a matter of time she starts taking tips on our whereabouts.” </p><p>“Miss Lounds will be looking in the wrong places,” Hannibal concludes, switching off the tablet once he’s skimmed the article. “Do not worry, Will. Argentinians are unlikely to check a site such as Tattlecrime during their daily endeavors.”</p><p>“I’m not exactly worried,” Will explains. “Maybe that’s more worrying.” </p><p>“You are smart not to worry. I will know if it is time to leave this place. Trust me,” Hannibal says, smiling at him. Will nods, complacent.</p><p>“I’m realizing perhaps this wasn’t a ‘drive home right now’ emergency,” he admits sheepishly.</p><p>“Nonsense! There were no suitable wines at the shops, anyhow.” </p><p>Will leans back against the couch. “There’s always a suitable wine. You always find one.” </p><p>Hannibal is far too pleased for his liking, enjoying the back and forth that has been lacking in the house for too much time. His tongue flicks out to wet his lips, dry from the outdoors. Will tries not to stare. “May I brew tea for us? I’d like to discuss your dreams if you’re willing.” </p><p>“Yeah sure,” Will mutters. </p><p>Hannibal returns from the kitchen seven minutes later with a tray of steaming teacups. Will would normally check the tag on the teabag to see what kind it is, but Hannibal prefers loose leaf tea with small, silver infusers. By the smell alone, he can detect it is a herbal tea. </p><p>“Chamomile,” Hannibal offers. “It will help you relax.” </p><p>Will wonders briefly if chamomile is considered a sedative, however mild. </p><p>“Are we in session?” Will doesn’t mean for the question to come across as sarcastic as it does, but Hannibal seems unaffected by his attitude. </p><p>“Whenever you are ready. I’m all ears.” </p><p>“Right,” Will says with a sigh. “Okay.” </p><p>He tells Hannibal everything, every detail, every noise he could hear in his dreamscape, every whisper. He tells him what it feels like when he wakes up, going from searing heat to cold and damp in an instant. They sit beside each other on the couch the entire time, and it doesn’t feel like he’s in a therapy session, not until Hannibal says, “Emotionally, what would you say that you feel when you wake up?”</p><p>“Paralyzed?” Will suggests snidely. “Like I won’t be able to make anything in my head move until the next night, or the one after that. It’s a numb feeling, and when I try to ignore it, I just, I hear <em> her </em>.” </p><p>“And what does she say?” </p><p>“Poison. Over and over again.” </p><p>Hannibal remembers her final words. His memory is stuff of legend, after all. If this bothers him, he doesn’t show it. He sets his cup of tea back down on the tray and turns to face Will fully. </p><p>“Do you believe I am poison, Will?” </p><p>“I know you’re poison, it’s a question of whether or not I’ve been completely contaminated by you, or if we’ve both done equitable amounts of contaminating.”</p><p>Will runs a hand through his hair, and he notices then that he is trembling. Hannibal takes his hand in his own, and he fights the urge to pull away. It isn’t as devastating as his body tells him it should be; Hannibal holds him tightly, and the trembling subsides, ever so slowly.</p><p>“Did you believe her when she suggested I would grow tired of you?” </p><p>Will finds the question to be extremely juvenile for Hannibal’s tastes. He is above professing his undying devotion just because of Will’s insecurities. And Will hates himself for not being above insecurity, hates himself for wanting verbal confirmation that Hannibal won’t– <em> can’t </em> –be intrigued by another mind. </p><p>“I didn’t <em> not </em>believe her,” Will finally admits, shifting in place. </p><p>Hannibal smiles, and it is remarkably not cruel. </p><p>“Bedelia is a master of psychology,” Hannibal begins, rubbing rapturously at the skin on Will’s hand. “She knew one of your darkest vices, and used it against you. I’m almost impressed it worked so well.” </p><p>Will scoffs, “And what would my darkest vice be?” </p><p>Hannibal’s smile grows devious. “Jealousy, of course.”</p><p>“Excuse me?” </p><p>Hannibal’s head cocks forward, brow raised. “Come now, Will.” </p><p>Will tugs his hand back, and Hannibal’s hands drop to the couch cushion. He is acting good-humoured throughout all of this, not even trying to hold back his smile, cruelty lazily seeping into his expression as it always does. </p><p>“This isn’t about jealousy. How old do you think I am?”</p><p>“Am I wrong in assuming your contempt toward Bedelia derived from your need for retribution, for what she had taken, for what you considered belonged to you? Were those feelings not envy?”</p><p>Will huffs out a breath, and keeps his eyes on the empty piano bench across the room.</p><p>“You’re afraid there will be another Bedelia, or another you,” he presses.</p><p>“I have to accept that it’s a possibility,” Will grits out. </p><p>“Will–”</p><p>“You don’t need to try to convince me.” </p><p>“That isn’t it,” Hannibal says, close to a whisper. “I want you to think about this rationally. It will help you overcome these paralyzing fears.”</p><p>“Rational isn’t a commonly used adjective in my vocabulary anymore, Doctor Lecter,” Will retorts. “Enlighten me.” </p><p>“The Dragon presented me with a great opportunity, to be witness to his becoming, to share in it if I so wished. He knew I would be intrigued by his calculated timidity, and his hunger for blood. In many ways, he reminded me of you without any prerequisites, any inhibitions. There are perhaps several individuals I have met, in my therapy sessions mainly, that have intrigued me in similar ways. I am sure in the future I will continue to be intrigued, but no one has ever changed me. Nobody has such power over me, only you.” </p><p>Will sucks in a sharp breath, at a loss for words. </p><p>“What is it you need to hear, Will?” Hannibal implores, and his voice is quiet, perhaps hurt.</p><p>“I don’t know,” Will replies, almost hysterical. “Wouldn’t I tell you if I knew?” </p><p>Hannibal is silent for a moment, nostrils flaring before he speaks again. “Could I not hold the same assumptions about you?” </p><p>Will’s face scrunches up in a grimace, confused. It takes him a moment to realize what Hannibal is accusing him of. Will could just as well grow used to this life, exhausted towards his intrigue of Hannibal. That had somehow never crossed his mind, because he knows it could never be a possibility. He understands in a slim sense what Hannibal may be feeling right now. </p><p>“Hannibal, I’m not trying to make you the bad guy here.” Will has to hold back a laugh, because Hannibal has <em> always </em>been the proverbial ‘bad guy’ in his life. “I want to touch you,” he admits, bitter at himself for the weakness. “I don’t want to touch you if I can’t cherish it.” </p><p>Hannibal nods, solemnly. He doesn’t ask Will what will happen if he can’t bring himself to touch him again. Perhaps he knows for a fact that he will, or perhaps he’s terrified of Will’s potential rejection. </p><p>Will brushes his fingers across the hollow of Hannibal’s throat, timidly tracing the dip of skin there, for reassurance. “Just allow me time,” he whispers.</p><p>Hannibal nods again. “I think I’ll compose this evening,” he tells him, voice stunted. </p><p>Will doesn’t stop him as he glides over to the piano, instead leaving the room before the music can start. It is a somber tune that lasts for hours, and he can hear it faintly even from his bedroom. Will goes to sleep that night vowing to turn those notes into upbeat, romantic ones. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>When he wakes up the next morning, Will promises himself two things. That he won’t allow Bedelia to have a victory over him, and that he is going to the store to buy ingredients so he can make Hannibal dinner. </p><p>Nightmares be damned. The piano from the night prior echoes through his mind, and he refuses to allow the music the leniency to follow him around like a looming storm cloud. Nerves still wrack his body, and he is shaky when he stands. </p><p>It is a step he is forcing himself to make, but a step nonetheless. </p><p>Hannibal is in the study reading, he’d seen him as he walked past, and decided not to tell him where he was going. He leaves a note on the fridge with nothing more than “Gone shopping,” written on it. Hannibal will at least know he’s not made a run for it.</p><p>It feels nice to drive; he hasn’t in a long time. </p><p>The town around him is less daunting without Hannibal by his side. The two of them have become a package deal when it comes to wanted posters and Tattlecrime. Without his cannibal counterpart, he is just another resident who looks like a tourist, a tourist with a gnarly facial scar. </p><p>Will sets his sights on ingredients for chicken parmesan. His father used to make it when he was young, and it’s the only food related talent he can muster. He’s sure the secret ingredient of garlic that his father utilized isn’t exactly secret to most people. </p><p>He is only in the grocery store for spices and cheese. He plans to go to the butcher Hannibal is fond of for the chicken breasts. </p><p>Before he checks out, he decides that stocking up on shampoos and conditioners is better than running out and asking to use Hannibal’s. Hannibal uses the expensive kind he hates, and he supposes he prefers that Hannibal use those, since it makes his hair ultra soft to the touch. </p><p>He rolls by the condoms once more, and this time he purposefully stops, doesn’t think too hard about it when he snatches a box off the rack. He grabs a bottle of lube (while it’s in Spanish, he doesn’t know what else it would be) and tosses it in his carriage along with the condoms. </p><p>A small weight lifts from his shoulders, and this is the lightest he’s felt in days. </p><p>He checks out with a gently curved smile plastered across his face. </p><p>On his drive home, he listens to French love songs on the radio, and sings along to lyrics he can’t understand. He feels utterly foolish and it is a wonderful feeling. A fleeting thought tells him that he might have felt better days prior if he had just taken time alone, away from Hannibal, to figure out his needs. </p><p>In the house, he had been driving himself crazy, and the walls had been closing in on him. </p><p>Hannibal had been right, about Dolarhyde. The Dragon had a mind like no other, and regardless Hannibal just as easily ripped out his throat with his teeth, with Will, <em> for </em>Will. </p><p>Remarkably, Hannibal is not in the kitchen when he gets home, and this gives him ample opportunity to wrap all the ingredients that belong in the fridge in tin foil.</p><p>He adds sticky notes to them that all say; <em> Don’t touch, or else </em>. He thinks Hannibal will be amused by the weak threat. </p><p>Tonight, he’ll watch tutorials on how to make the perfect chicken parmesan for two people. While he remembers his dad’s recipe, he doesn’t really remember how to cook the damn thing. It is probably the most time he’ll ever spend on YouTube, never finding a use for it otherwise except for tips on how to fix vintage boat motors. </p><p>Will shoves the lube, condoms, and spices he plans to use for the meal all in one bag. It would make Hannibal cringe so hard he might break a bone. He doesn’t want him seeing this, though, and he keeps the shopping bag under his bed, head tingling with possibilities of what will come tomorrow. </p><p>Later, Hannibal brings him a small dinner with an expression which Will knows to be one of restraint. He is trying to hold back a smile, having most likely seen the sticky notes already. </p><p>“Would you like anything else?” Hannibal asks before departing.</p><p>Will wants to tell him a kiss would be nice, but he saves it for tomorrow, when he’s certain he’ll be desperate for it. Will shakes his head, making sure Hannibal sees the softness in his expression. Hannibal says nothing, but ducks his head on his way out, endeared as always by Will’s whims. </p><p>Will goes to sleep that night, and it is the first time he doesn’t pray absently for Bedelia not to show. If he sees her, he sees her. There is nothing he can do about it except let it slide over him like the waterfalls of the Cascadas de Tamasopo. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em> There is a falcon in the sky, brown mottled feathers cruising the wind.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Will finds himself on a horse, clad in heavy metal armor, tight and jagged against his skin. For a moment, he thinks he spots Hannibal beside him on an ivory speckled horse, but it is a man who looks similar. His hair is dressed in braids, and his face painted for war.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> He does not feel like himself, and his beard feels longer when he scratches through it.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Images flash through this languid, vast journey. Battles, blood spilt under the rising sun, and several brothers, all adorned in the same armor. They cry out in victory, and Will sees Hannibal– the other man –shoot him a triumphant grin. What they have won, Will is not sure, but the expression makes him weak in the knees.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Will knows distantly they have won battles, far and close to home, and he can see them drink and dance to celebrate their life, their existence under the moonlight. Cries of their brothers’ children echo clear and beautifully in the night. Kisses are given, brotherly and platonic.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Except for one.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The man who wears Hannibal’s face presses him down into golden sheets, and Will thinks perhaps they are in Rome as they explore each other’s skin. Hands find quivering thighs, and he finds the man’s cock, and in a rush of hardened heat, he pictures the Falcon squawking.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Will wakes with a start, but it is not accompanied with fright. </p><p>Bedelia does not cross his mind once. </p><p>With a surly confidence, he extracts himself from his sheets and checks the time. Five AM, which is abnormally early for him, and around an hour before Hannibal usually wakes. </p><p>He gets up and heads to Hannibal’s bedroom, quietly letting himself in to find Hannibal shirtless, laying loose on his side facing the window. Will is wearing nothing but his boxers, but he crawls in beside him anyway. Discreetly as he can. He’s missed the heat Hannibal’s body emits, a blistering sensation if you’re near him when he’s shed his outerwear.</p><p>Will shimmies closer to him until he can wrap an arm around Hannibal’s middle and kiss just below the hair on the nape of his neck. Hannibal stirs from the light contact, never having been a deep sleeper. Will doesn’t retreat, holds him closer until his own skin starts to warm. </p><p>“Will,” Hannibal mumbles, voice drenched in sleep. He voices the word like it is a surprise, though he’s certain Hannibal had an inclination yesterday that he’d been feeling like his normal self again. </p><p>“I had a dream,” Will whispers in his ear, kissing the smooth skin on his neck. </p><p>Hannibal shifts back against him, grumbling in satisfaction. It is nearly a purr. “Tell me,” he says in a sigh, clearly content to let Will hold him and kiss his back gently until he’s had his fill. </p><p>“We were knights of the round table. You had a pet bird.” </p><p>A laugh startles out of Hannibal, his defenses down. “I’m afraid I don’t have a psychiatric explanation for that.” </p><p>“We killed people together in battle,” Will explains further, brushing his hand through Hannibal’s furred chest, delighting in the feeling. He can’t quite see from this angle, but would bet it looks more silver than grey in the sunlight. </p><p>“In every life, it would seem.” </p><p>“You also had braids in your hair, so I’m not too convinced about the past lives theory.” </p><p>Hannibal contemplates in silence before turning around and drawing Will’s head down to the crook of his neck. He squirms close, squishes Will tight to his body, treating him more like a stuffed animal than a bedmate. Will grouses his complaints into his skin, but they come out muffled and Hannibal wraps his arms tighter around Will instead of listening.</p><p>“I wasn’t ready to wake up, I think I’ll visit my pet bird in my dreams,” Hannibal declares, unrelenting. </p><p>Will gives up, sinking into his grip, and allowing sleep to tangle with his mind once more. Hannibal is so very warm and it is impossible to ignore how lax his hold makes him feel. He easily closes his eyes and falls back asleep. </p><p>They end up spending an hour more than they’d planned in bed.</p><p>Hannibal makes pancakes for him, which means that he is in a chipper mood. When he’s in a sour mood, Will gets eggs over easy on rye bread, which is still a pretty good breakfast by Will’s standards, but he thinks Hannibal somehow picked up on the fact that rye bread is probably Will’s least favorite bread. </p><p>“Did we know each other well in your dream?” Hannibal asks while he’s flipping the food on the pan. Will sits on one of the counters; Hannibal has exhausted himself telling him to get down, doesn’t bother doing it anymore. </p><p>“I’d say so,” Will replies, coy. </p><p>Hannibal shoots him a questioning look, but Will playfully averts his gaze.</p><p>“I’m cooking dinner tonight,” Will tells Hannibal while he’s pouring them juice. “Throw out all your plans, I’m gonna take over everything.” </p><p>Hannibal’s eyebrows shoot up. “Is that what the notes are for?”</p><p>“It is a surprise,” Will explains. </p><p>“Ah.” </p><p>Will eats his pancakes happily. He feels unshowered and his eyes are still sticky with sleep, but he has Hannibal’s foot brushing up against his under the table and the taste of syrup in his mouth. Jack is no closer to catching them than he was two weeks ago and Bedelia died being wrong.  </p><p>It feels good to think about it. </p><p>At dinner, he manages to <em> say </em>it. </p><p>“I feel better,” Will tells him, placing a metal tray with an oval lid down in front of Hannibal. </p><p>Hannibal dressed up fancy for this dinner, though Will had warned him not to. He’d wanted this to be semi-casual.  Just a nice little thing he can do for the two of them, but Hannibal is wearing one of his deep navy three piece suits, accompanied by a black tie that compliments him perfectly in the evenings.</p><p>He looks like an excited duckling, sitting with his back straight and his smile wide. </p><p>“I thought about what you said,” he continues. “Mostly I thought about Bedelia’s smug face in the afterlife, and I don’t want her to have even that.” </p><p>“I am glad for it,” Hannibal says. </p><p>Will softens. “Are you ready?”</p><p>“I am elated.” </p><p>Will gathers his courage and lifts up the lid on the tray to reveal a mediocre dish of chicken parmesan. He can’t hold back his grin when he sees the momentary blank expression on Hannibal’s face. </p><p>His face immediately brightens as if there hadn’t been a lapse of consternation, and Will abruptly starts explaining while he is searching for words.</p><p>“I’m well aware this is pig slop compared to you, but it’s a Graham family recipe.”</p><p>“Will, you could serve me a bowl of nothing but white rice and I would worship each grain,” he tells him reverently, sniffing at the steam that rises from the meal. </p><p>“That’s pushing it too far,” Will jibes, but swoops down to kiss Hannibal, throwing him off guard. He makes it biting and passionate even as he pulls away seconds later. Hannibal’s eyes widen when Will crosses the table to his seat, pretending nothing has happened. </p><p>“Pass the salt,” he demands lightly, and Hannibal reaches across to do just that. </p><p>“This is wonderful,” he tells Will after two bites. “Your family has good taste.” He makes it sound insanely sincere, far too sincere. </p><p>“Enough with the compliments, I know it’s subpar,” Will mumbles. “But, thank you.” </p><p>“Do you care for Italian?”</p><p>Will points his fork down at his chicken parm. “On occasion.” </p><p>“I shall have to keep that in mind.”</p><p>“You’re going to outdo me tomorrow, I know you,” Will accuses. “You’ll make something similar to chicken parmesan, something with a hard-to-pronounce name, and tell me you’re just doing it for my tastes, but really it’s just to show off.”</p><p>Hannibal sucks in his cheeks, amused. </p><p>“Perhaps I will make you Italian the day <em> after </em>tomorrow, then.” </p><p>Will makes eye contact with him. “I want you to do what you want to do for me.” </p><p>Hannibal pauses, raises a brow to test the waters. “Does this extend outside of the dining room and the kitchen?” </p><p>“I think you know what I mean,” Will mutters.</p><p>Hannibal sips at his wine, keeping his eyes trained on Will. They haven’t had fire between them burn this hot since the night he had convinced Hannibal they were eating Freddie Lounds. Will feels electricity feed from his eyes into Hannibal’s and despite the twinge of sharp pain that comes with it, he’s never felt more alive. He refuses to look away. </p><p>“Hannibal, I would like to sleep in the same bed as you tonight.”</p><p>“Yes.” The word slides out of Hannibal’s mouth before he can control himself. Will can spot the small flicker of disappointment he has for his own desperation, before he adds, “I would like that as well.” </p><p>“Good,” Will states, a smirk stretching across his face. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Will spends a long time in the shower after dinner, thoroughly scrubbing himself up. He even uses Hannibal’s expensive soap, just as a precaution. He knows how much Hannibal hates his dollar store type toiletries. </p><p>He knows Hannibal won’t be asleep, no matter how long he takes. If he’d read the room right, he knows what Hannibal is expecting. </p><p>Will snatches the lube from underneath his bed, and the condoms. He also grabs the black, silk, pajama button-up shirt he never wears, and black briefs, returning hastily to the steamed up bathroom. He locks the door, even though he doesn’t think he’d mind Hannibal finding him naked, bracing himself against the sink. </p><p>“Okay,” he mutters, burying his nerves. “Okay, let’s do this.” </p><p>Hannibal would do this, if he let him. He thinks this as he slides a lubed up finger inside of himself. He hisses and tightens one hand over the edge of the sink, slicking himself up inside and out. It doesn’t feel like much of anything, if he’s being honest. He tries not to think too hard about it when he adds a second and feels only a smidge of dulled pain. </p><p>Will wants to surprise Hannibal. Give him this. One day he’ll let him do the work instead. </p><p>His hand aches as he scissors two fingers in and out of his body. It still feels more like an intrusion than anything else. It doesn’t matter. If it’s Hannibal doing it to him, it won’t matter if it hurts or feels like he’s falling into Hell. He’s already been there, and he much prefers the man who runs it. </p><p>He avoids looking at himself in the mirror, he looks ridiculous half bent over like this, hand moving behind his back to stretch himself. </p><p>Will washes his hands once he considers himself sufficiently prepared, and slips on the black briefs, and the black silk shirt, letting it hang provocatively from his shoulders before he ventures out into the hallway. He stands in the archway to Hannibal’s bedroom, the door already wide open, and watches him read with glasses and no more than grey drawstring pants on. </p><p>When he notices him, his grip tightens on his book, and he places his glasses on the bureau beside the bed.</p><p>“Will,” Hannibal wets his lips, desires glistening in his eyes.Will moves closer, deliberately crawling over the bed to pluck the book out of Hannibal’s hands. He sits on his haunches while he glances over the pages with a detached interest. He flings the book halfway across the room before climbing into Hannibal’s lap and kissing him senseless.</p><p>“I had a bookmark.” Hannibal’s complaint is muffled by and dies on Will’s lips as he’s pushed firmly against the headboard. “Will,” he sighs lovingly. </p><p>“Put your hands on me,” Will pleads. “Please.” </p><p>Hannibal swallows, and does as he’s told. He loses his last remaining shred of restraint and glides his hands up Will’s back, keeping him close as he continues to kiss him. He strokes his hips, his thighs, anything in arm’s reach. </p><p>Will rocks into him, and his kisses grow biting and urgent. </p><p>“Bedelia doesn’t know you like I do,” Will harps. “She might have had you, but you’re mine.” </p><p>“I always was,” Hannibal replies, nosing into the crook of his neck, inhaling deep. “I always will be.” He sucks kisses along the ridge of his collarbone and Will groans, tugging at Hannibal’s hair in a crazed encouragement. </p><p>They stay like this for a few minutes, regaining familiarity with each other’s mouths, bodies. Making up for all the internal promises they’d made themselves in that hotel room in Baltimore. </p><p>Hannibal slips the silk shirt off of Will and kisses his exposed shoulders, smooth hands running over muscles that aren’t nearly as toned as his own. Will finds this form of worship intoxicating; He never met anybody who wanted him as badly as Hannibal does. </p><p>On a particularly rough, mutual thrust of hips, he can feel the aching hardness of Hannibal’s cock  underneath him. A soft grunt escapes Hannibal’s lips, so Will grips the back of his neck and drags him in for another kiss. He slips his tongue into Hannibal’s mouth as he guides one of Hannibal’s hands down to the curve of his ass. </p><p>Stunned, Hannibal searches his eyes, as if asking for permission. Will nods. </p><p>Hannibal’s hand slips into his briefs, and his calloused fingers feel so good on his bare skin that he lets out a small breathy whine as the hand slips further, groping at the slope of his ass. He rocks back against the touch until Hannibal’s fingertips find his hole, still damp with lube. </p><p>Will watches with a rapt stare as Hannibal pulls back, eyes drawn wide in shock. </p><p>“I want you to take me,” Will explains, sultry as he can manage. </p><p>Hannibal rubs at his hips in disbelief, swallowing around an upsurge of emotion. </p><p>“You impossible creature,” he whispers, and Will smiles. </p><p>“I told you I wanted you when we were home.” Will inches closer, slipping his arms around Hannibal’s neck. “I feel at home.” </p><p>Hannibal’s eyes glisten and he ducks his head so his cheek is pressing up against Will’s. This fails to mask his tears since Will’s cheek now feels more wet than it had seconds prior. He lets Hannibal hold him tightly until his hands start exploring again, dipping back inside Will’s briefs to nudge against his hole properly. He slips one finger inside, and Will lets out a shuddery chuckle. </p><p>“I’ve never had anything inside me. I think I did it right,” Will says.</p><p>“I want to make sure,” Hannibal tells him, reaching across to the bedside drawer. He pulls out his own bottle of lube. He’s recovered from the tears, and his voice is filled with determination. “How many fingers did you use?”</p><p>Will flushes. “Two, but that’s not,” he swallows as he watches Hannibal slick up three fingers. “You don’t have to do anything, you can just have me.” </p><p>Hannibal looks up, incredulously shaking his head. </p><p>“I won’t take you unprepared, Will,” he chides, dragging Will closer so he can easily slip a hand behind him. “Though I greatly appreciate your efforts.” </p><p>He barely has one inside of Will before he’s slipping two in, side by side. Will grunts, rocking forward. “It feels different than when I did it,” he says breathlessly. It feels wider, and there’s more sensation, a <em> lot </em>more sensation. </p><p>He fucks Will with his fingers for a while, slipping a third one in when he deems Will ready for it, and Will bites his tongue and squeezes Hannibal’s shoulders so he doesn’t make any unbecoming sounds. </p><p>“Clothes,” Will stutters out. “Off.” </p><p>With a look of hesitance, Hannibal tugs his fingers out of him. Will doesn’t dwell on the aching loss between his cheeks before he’s ripping Hannibal’s pants off, dragging his briefs off with the force of it. He kisses the hard shaft of Hannibal’s penis, flicking out a tongue to taste heat. He delights in the soft, wanton noise Hannibal makes in response. </p><p>Will shimmies the rest of the way out of his own briefs, and kicks all the clothes on the floor before settling on his lap again. He grabs Hannibal’s face in his hands and presses open mouthed kisses all over his lips, cheeks, jaw, until he’s desperately rutting into him again. The feeling of skin on skin is overwhelming, and he feels like Hannibal might dissolve into him. </p><p>It leaves him with a heady feeling, possessive and searing. </p><p>Hannibal’s cock bumps against the back of his thighs, and he reaches behind himself to gather the lube dripping out of his hole. He slicks Hannibal’s cock with the excess, and lines him up. </p><p>“Take as much time as you need,” Hannibal tells him, voice weak.</p><p>Will decides he doesn’t want to take his time. He sinks down in one movement, hissing at the sudden sharp feeling. The intrusion stretches him much wider than his fingers had, and he deliriously wonders how he ever thought two fingers would cut it. He grips tightly to Hannibal’s shoulders for leverage, feeling like he’ll fall backwards if he doesn’t. He won’t be surprised if they bruise tomorrow.</p><p>Hannibal’s thumbs brush over his nipples, trail down his ribcage to sooth him. </p><p>“How does it feel?” he implores. “Are you alright?”</p><p>“More than alright,” Will responds earnestly, and he knows how vivid his blush must look. “Give me a minute.” </p><p>Hannibal nods, struggling to balance out his quickening breath. </p><p>“It would be terribly ironic if you were to give me a heart attack, Will,” Hannibal says lightly, dragging one of Will’s hands down to his chest so he can feel his heartbeat.</p><p>Will tuts, not expecting the inhuman, rapid, thumping underneath his fingertips. He is mesmerized by it, trailing his hand over his chest, through silver hair and over dusky peaked nipples.</p><p>“You’re so handsome,” Will tells him and is surprised that he means it. He’s not attracted to men, really, and yet Hannibal is another creature entirely. He brings out the deepest shades of his arousal.</p><p>“And you can be described as a lost work of Michaelangelo himself, come to life,” Hannibal responds, nose bumping Will’s as he leans in for a kiss. </p><p>“Stop trying to one up me.” </p><p>“I speak only with honesty.” </p><p>“I’m gonna wipe that grin off your face,” Will warns. </p><p>Will shifts his hips minutely, getting more used to the feeling of something hard and long and impossibly <em> warm </em>inside of him. The thought that Hannibal is restraining himself from fucking up into him, from going wild and uninhibited, it sends a hot shiver up his spine. </p><p>He makes eye contact with Hannibal, which is impossible to avoid considering he’s sitting on his lap. Adoration is all he finds in those hazel brown eyes of his, and immense longing. Will leans forward and kisses him, bewildered that his own feelings perfectly match his. He doesn’t need to be an empath to feel the connection, so brutally paralleled. </p><p>Hannibal’s hands glide down to dig his fingers into the globes of his ass at the same time Will is lifting up for the first time and sinking back down to test the feeling of it. </p><p>Will moans in pleasure. The pain is mostly gone except for a dull burn. </p><p>“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever laid eyes on,” Hannibal whispers, brushing the hair back from Will’s eyes. Will normally would have ridiculed him for using such hokey romantics on him, but he’s so transiently overwhelmed that the complement crashes over him like a love confession. </p><p>He lifts up again, choking on the sensation, and finds he can’t stop. </p><p>“Hannibal,” he moans with a sigh when Hannibal latches his mouth into a spot on his neck and begins to suck and bite lightly. </p><p>Hannibal allows Will to set the pace for a while, riding him as slowly or as frantically as he pleases until his grip on his shoulders slips from the accumulating sweat and he falls back. Hannibal swiftly follows him so he doesn’t slide out, and stretches over him on the bed. This pushes him even deeper into Will.</p><p>“Fuck.” Will’s voice is high pitched as Hannibal begins to thrust into him, taking over. “Yes, <em> god </em>, yes.” </p><p>His knees draw up to frame Hannibal’s thighs as he grunts with effort to maintain the frenzied pace. It won’t last, they’ve been waiting too long for this. </p><p>“I love you,” Will tells him when he feels close. “Christ, I love you.” </p><p>Hannibal’s eyes are glistening again when he kisses Will the way he’s never kissed him before. Will can barely breathe from the intensity of it, can barely speak when he pulls back and begins to slam into him hard, over and over again. </p><p>Will throws his head back against the sheets and claws at Hannibal’s skin. </p><p>“I’m close, Will,” he rasps in the crook of his neck, barely giving Will the brain power to think of a response. </p><p>Will manages with a broken voice, “Inside.” They groan together. “Inside me, <em> please </em>.” </p><p>Hannibal grips at his lower back, dragging his hips into his body like a collision. Will closes his eyes and lets the heat inside of him build until Hannibal lets out a noise like he’s been shot, and spills into him. With trembling hands, Will strokes his back through the aftershocks, hips canting up a bit instinctively from the loss of rhythm. </p><p>Hannibal stays buried inside of him as he heaves and comes down from his orgasm. Will strokes his hair, and restrains himself from fidgeting or moving. He doesn’t want to disturb the peaceful moment. </p><p>He barely notices when Hannibal slips out, until he feels a wet trail leaking out of him onto his inner thighs. It feels right, despite the unfamiliar aspects of it. He notices then, Hannibal’s dark eyes, and shadowed face looming over him in the dim light. </p><p>“Hannibal–?”</p><p>Hannibal knocks his knees apart, presses a bruising grip to each thigh to restrain him before lurching down and nosing his way under his balls. Will lets out a yelp as he runs his tongue over his quivering hole, lapping up his semen spilling out. </p><p>“Jesus Christ,” Will stutters, trembling when Hannibal begins to press his fingers back inside, thrusting hard with expert precision. He sucks at his rim convulsing around his fingers, and Will lets out a series of sounds he’d never thought he’d hear himself make. </p><p>He’s had few blowjobs in his life, let alone <em> this </em>. </p><p>He scratches at the bed sheets as Hannibal continues with his fingers, trailing his mouth along his balls, sucking and kissing at his untouched cock, and it’s all too much. One more nudge against his prostate and he’s spurting cum across his stomach with a shout. </p><p>Of course Hannibal doesn’t stop, and only then does he wrap his mouth around Will’s cock and suck him through the shaky aftershocks, not allowing him reprieve even when he whimpers and begs incoherently. Not until Hannibal draws every last drop out of him. </p><p>He removes his fingers eventually when Will begins to quiet down, and finally crawls up to lay beside Will, joyous and content. Will allows himself to slump against the sheets, spent, and closes his eyes again. </p><p>“You are way too good at that,” Will mumbles after some time, and he distantly acknowledges he sounds more satisfied than he’s ever been in his entire life. Hannibal strokes up and down his sternum, exploring his body as much as he pleases now that he’s allowed. </p><p>“I have many talents,” Hannibal concedes simply. </p><p>Will has no clue why he hadn’t expected him to be smug about this. He is about everything else in life. </p><p>“Was it good?” Will asks softly, with a sliver of insecurity. “Was it what you expected?” </p><p>Hannibal frowns and kisses his ear. </p><p>“You are everything to me, and more, Will. It was a religious experience.” </p><p>Will huffs and means to protest, but ultimately melts into Hannibal’s attentions. </p><p>They lie there for a while, stroking at moist skin, and relishing in the dissipating air of heat in which their sweat begins to cool. Will keeps his eyes on Hannibal’s eyes, and he falls in love all over again.</p><p>Hannibal’s mouth droops and he finally breaks their gaze. Will makes an unhappy clicking sound with his mouth, gently tilting Hannibal’s chin back up so they can make eye contact again. </p><p>“What is it, Hannibal?”</p><p>“You have never looked at me with such tenderness.” It is no more than a whisper, but Will’s throat catches at the harrowing vulnerability of the admission. </p><p>There is a beat of unbearable silence before Will can speak again.</p><p>“It turns out we don’t just bring out the worst in each other,” Will strokes Hannibal’s cheek to keep his eyes on him. “Who knew?” </p><p>Hannibal smiles, a pure genuine smile, with teeth and warm eyes. If Will didn’t know any better, he’d say for the first time in decades, Hannibal finds himself unconditionally happy. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The next morning, Will wakes to Hannibal sitting against the headboard, typing away at his laptop keyboard. He blinks the sleep from his eyes and cuddles up to him, happy to exchange his pillow for the cushiony firmness of Hannibal’s chest. </p><p>“Good morning, Will,” Hannibal greets brightly. Will tries not to think of the contrast of this Hannibal and the unhinged one who had buried himself inside of Will last night with animal groans and grunts. He smirks when he feels the ache in his backside. </p><p>“W’ya doin’?” </p><p>Hannibal chest heaves once in a quiet chuckle before turning the laptop to face Will. The bright screen aggravates his eyesight, but as they adjust, he can see a picture of a small labrador puppy attached to an email. “I made you a promise,” Hannibal reminds him.</p><p>“Oh my god.” Will’s jaw drops. “Good fucking god, you were serious?” </p><p>“Language.” </p><p>Will kisses his cheek and grabs the laptop from Hannibal’s arms without asking. </p><p>Hannibal watches him stare at the puppy with wide, excited eyes, and lets out a long-suffering sigh. “She will come next week. I’ve been exchanging emails with a man who lives near here. His dog has recently had a small litter of pups he cannot care for.” </p><p>“You were planning this even while I was being a brat?”</p><p>“You are always a bit of a brat,” Hannibal shoots him with a playful glare before he continues. “But, I was hoping this would lift your spirits. Now I am glad you will <em> already </em>be in good spirits by the time she comes home.”  </p><p>“I could blow you,” Will waggles his brows, unable to suppress his grin. </p><p>Hannibal making a displeased noise that tells Will he thinks he’s being distasteful. “Don’t be so crude, Will.” </p><p>“You had your dick inside me less than ten hours ago, I think I can be crude.” </p><p>Hannibal mimics the same noise, but closes his laptop and kisses Will’s forehead before departing to get dressed for the day. </p><p>Will reopens his computer when he’s gone from the room to stare at the puppy some more, uncaring about what Hannibal will cook this morning, or for the rest of the week. It is a chocolate lab, and he’s already thinking of ideas for names. </p><p>It’s safe to say, he feels like himself again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i hope to get the next chapters out soon, but i might be a little bit busier than usual. hope this was good!!!! i can be relatively soft and really hammy when it comes to them having sex, either that or really kinky which might be coming soon ; ))) stay tuned lads, thank u as always for reading xoxo</p><p>edit; if you guys have any name ideas for the dog im drawing a blank. id be very open to suggestions!! and yes i slipped a tristan/galahad easter egg into this chapter, sue me</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“My palette wasn’t built for this, Will.” </p><p>“You told me you’d humor me.”</p><p>“This is going too far.” </p><p>Will sits back on his haunches with a sigh, dropping the chip he’d been dangling in front of Hannibal’s face back in the Doritos bag. </p><p>He had cornered Hannibal in the study while he’d been reading Nietzsche. He’d come bearing slices of Cabot cheese, a bag of Doritos, and Hershey bars. While Hannibal may see them as something akin to weapons, these are his go-to guilty pleasure snacks, and Hannibal had vaguely promised him he’d try them one afternoon after some extensive convincing. Not that he admitted what the snacks were at the time, because Hannibal wouldn’t have given him even a <em> vague </em> promise, he would have just ridiculed with nothing more than a stern glare. </p><p>“Come on, I know you’ll like it,” Will croons, shimmying closer on Hannibal’s lap. Hannibal’s head rolls on his shoulders to look toward anything else, entirely unimpressed.</p><p>“I thought you would know this is the <em> exact </em>type of thing I wouldn’t like.” </p><p>“You can’t escape the pleasures of mass-produced high fructose corn syrup, sodium, and sugar,” Will nips his bottom lip to get him to look at him. “Just once.” </p><p>Hannibal does all that he can not to roll his eyes. “I suppose I promised, however ambiguous of a promise it was.” </p><p>Will grins, folding his knees to frame Hannibal’s thighs so he can get settled and comfortable. He picks up a Dorito and waits for Hannibal to open his mouth so he can slip it in. Hannibal reluctantly closes his mouth around it and chews. </p><p>It takes a few seconds of wincing and lackadaisical crunching until Hannibal mutters haughtily, “Tasteless.”</p><p>“Do you have trouble with taste?” Will asks, more a recollection than an actual question. He slips a piece of Cabot cheese into Hannibal’s mouth without warning and Hannibal’s glare grows darker. </p><p>“Sodium filled triangle nightmare aside, I quite like the cheese.” </p><p>“My father would buy only Cabot cheese when he went out. He was lactose intolerant.” </p><p>“A trait I am grateful was not passed unto you,” Hannibal admits as Will unwraps a Hershey bar and snaps a piece off to place in his mouth. Hannibal accepts this more graciously, probably thrilled the exercise is over. </p><p>“My dad wasn’t much of a cook,” Will says when Hannibal swallows.</p><p>“Except for chicken parmesan.” </p><p>“Yes,” Will ducks his head with a laugh. “Yeah, that was all he was good at. He couldn’t even heat up soup for me when I was sick, so he’d buy the junk food I liked best to cheer me up.” </p><p>“Not too insulting a snack for a child,” Hannibal concedes.</p><p>“Going back and forth between Doritos and chocolate used to make my head spin. I really liked the mixture of taste, the cheese I just added cause it was always in my house.” </p><p>“Perhaps your penchant for the dual sensations of sweet and salty foods reflected your inner struggle between your true self, and the person suit you would daily put on to fit in with your peers,” Hannibal muses absently, riding up Will’s shirt as he rubs at his hips. </p><p>“You did not just psychoanalyze why I like Doritos.” </p><p>“If you promise to never force me through such an exercise again, I’ll stop,” Hannibal tells him, kissing his jaw as he tries to drag him closer. </p><p>“Yeah, yeah, I’ll keep my snacks to myself. Don’t want to share ‘em anyway.” Will huffs out a breath as Hannibal’s mouth travels down his throat, kissing over bruises already left by him. </p><p>“It’s a good thing I don’t go out much,” Will notes, feeling at the side of his neck Hannibal is not gently sucking on. “I’d get asked if I got hit by a train.” </p><p>“A train would do much worse,” Hannibal clarifies. “It would pulverize you into bits.” </p><p>“Oh, I love the dirty talk, Doctor,” Will drawls sarcastically. “Tell me more about my pulverized meat.” </p><p>Hannibal glares silently, and slips his hands under Will’s shirt. </p><p>He thumbs over his rib cage, dipping towards his pelvis. He smiles when he feels against Will’s quivering stomach, stroking his fingertips from the soft skin there to the dip of his spine, trailing up until Will can’t control a full-body shiver. </p><p>Will leans in for a kiss, but Hannibal gracefully ducks out of the way.</p><p>“You know I’m not the one who cares that you taste like Doritos right?” </p><p>Hannibal purses his lips. “I care.” </p><p>Will drags Hannibal’s hands away from his body to irritate him further. “So, you can pretend to like some mediocre Italian food I cook for you, but you can’t function when I force feed you potato chips?”</p><p>“I wasn’t pretending,” Hannibal affirms. “And you made it. This is a bag of shoddily manufactured chemicals, nothing more.” </p><p>“But, they taste so good,” Will mutters, capturing Hannibal’s mouth in a filthy kiss. He holds back a laugh as Hannibal fails to move away from Will’s probing tongue and lips. </p><p>He continues kissing him until he realizes how hard Hannibal is under him. Will hums and rocks against him just to see Hannibal’s pupils dilate. </p><p>“I never thought you’d be this insatiable,” Will tells him. </p><p>Hannibal smiles gently and takes in a sharp breath. </p><p>“I was locked up for three years with almost no human contact. I have adored you for so long that your contact after years without none can rile me even under the most heinous conditions,” he gestures wistfully to the Doritos bag. </p><p>“I won’t apologize,” Will says, cocking his chin up as if daring Hannibal to challenge it. “Your imprisonment was all on you.” </p><p>“And I am thankful for every minute of it, especially since it led me here.” </p><p>“Of course you would be. Nothing phases you, does it?”</p><p>“How do you mean?”</p><p>Will licks his lips in thought and then trails a hand under Hannibal’s shirt to find the smooth ridges of Hannibal’s brand courtesy of the Verger Dynasty. </p><p>“How did you take this?” </p><p>“Quite well,” Hannibal reveals. “Cordell was disappointed I’m sure. Though I’m sure Mason was thinking more about the meals he could make of me rather than how I felt about being treated like a pig.” </p><p>Will frowns. “It hurt you?” </p><p>“It was painful, if that’s what you’re asking.” Hannibal’s head tilts with curiosity. “I have a high tolerance to pain, and it was more than manageable.”</p><p>“How would you feel if I told you I wanted to kill Mason myself?”</p><p>“You know he’s dead.”</p><p>“I know, but I’ve never wanted to kill anyone more. Perhaps you, once upon a time.” </p><p>Hannibal runs a hand over his clothed thigh. “Bedelia?” </p><p>Will hisses. “I wanted her undignified. Her death was just a consequence.” </p><p>“It delights me,” Hannibal belatedly answers him. “Just in the way it delighted me to kill the man who prosecuted you in court. And, in the way it delighted me to bring down the Dragon after what he’d done to your face.” </p><p>“God forbid you kill him for the sake of anti-heroic vengeance,” Will grumbles, but leans in to kiss Hannibal again, not so much caring to continue on this topic any longer.</p><p>“Oh, I almost forgot,” Hannibal pipes up, and Will slumps back against his legs with a pissed off grunt. </p><p>“<em>What</em>.” </p><p>“There is a festival tomorrow night in town. I wouldn’t suggest going just because our news stories have been circling around as of late. But, I can fire up the grill. We can watch the fireworks together on the porch. It could be something of an evening, if you’re amenable.” </p><p>Will softens and drags his hands down the front of Hannibal’s shirt. </p><p>“The dog is coming tomorrow.” </p><p>“She can join us,” Hannibal amends.</p><p>“Can I convince you to let her sleep in our bed?” </p><p>“No.” </p><p>“What if she’s frightened of the fireworks?” Will pleads. “Just for one night.” </p><p>“Only one, then.” Hannibal sighs, and runs a hand through his own hair. “If my hair weren’t already grey…” he mutters. </p><p>Will grins and his legs ache as hauls himself up off Hannibal’s lap, only to kneel deliberately in front of the armchair, between his legs. Hannibal watches him and tenses as Will’s hands travel up his thighs, finding his belt with ease. </p><p>“Will,” he whispers and Will smirks, unzipping his trousers. He throws the belt to the floor, and dips his hand inside Hannibal’s briefs. He releases his cock, still half-hard. </p><p>Will licks his palm and wraps his hand around the shaft of his penis, stroking up and firmly down until he hardens further. Hannibal’s breathing becomes heavy, and Will can see him snap his mouth shut to prevent noises from escaping. </p><p>Will doesn’t need to fake his lust-filled gaze as he continues to pump him with short, intentional strokes. For a man who in no other circumstance would find a man desirable, the sight of an aching hard cock, leaking at the tip, and red from want makes him hungry for it. </p><p>“You ever been sucked off by a guy?” Will asks, continuing his pace. </p><p>Hannibal’s gasp is jagged. “Yes,” he says. </p><p>Will shelves away the desire to kill whichever man had placed his mouth on Hannibal’s cock. He’d barely been able to contain himself when he’d discovered Alana had been fucking him. At the time, he’d been so angry at Hannibal, he’d barely recognized his own jealousy.</p><p>“I’ve never–” Will pauses. “This is probably going to be the worst blow job you’ve ever received, just a heads up.” </p><p>Hannibal shakes his head before murmuring, “Not possible.” </p><p>Will gives him a jumpy nod before stroking down to the base of his cock, fisting his hand there so he can angle it into his mouth. He places an open mouthed kiss to the head before swallowing him down. </p><p>Hannibal lets out a broken moan that has Will’s own cock throbbing in sympathy. </p><p>It doesn’t taste as bad as he’d expected. It doesn’t taste bad at all, really, not to Will. In fact, he’s desperate for more of the taste. Whether it’s his desperation for Hannibal or a newfound obsession with cocksucking, it doesn’t matter to him as he sucks on the head, flicking his tongue through the slit. He dips back down to envelop him further. </p><p>“Will,” he breathes above him, and cards a hand through Will’s hair. </p><p>Will can’t quite reach the root of his dick, but that doesn’t stop him from trying. He bobs up and down, encouraged by the vehement fingers tugging at his hair, and the short breaths and soft noises he draws out of the man above him. </p><p>He takes the hand that had been fisted at the base of his dick and uses it to roll Hannibal’s balls in his hand. It feels strange to do this to a man other than himself, not that he’d been fondling his balls much in his masturbatory days. </p><p>Hannibal’s breath hitches, and he can feel his balls tighten in his hand. He’s close, and it excites Will to know he can sense when he is close to coming without him saying so. He realizes he’ll become accustomed to his body, know what makes him tick, what makes him moan as opposed to what doesn’t. He releases Hannibal’s cock with a pop, stroking up the wet shaft with his hand. </p><p>“I would be inclined not to believe your claims of,” Hannibal huffs when Will tweaks a thumb over his frenulum, “<em> propriety </em>.” </p><p>Will shrugs. “Believe what you want.” </p><p>He continues stroking him fast as he sucks on the head of his cock, filthily kissing it like he would Hannibal’s mouth. It’s obscene in ways that Hannibal should discourage, but his hips are rocking up against Will’s ministrations, and he’s not voicing any complaints. </p><p>“I want you to come in my mouth,” Will tells him, flicking his tongue around where his foreskin begins, dipping it into the folds as much as he can. Hannibal's eyes are shut, and he looks about ready to pass out from restraining himself. “Would you like me to ask nicely?”</p><p>Hannibal is trembling all over, and his hand grows almost painfully tight in Will’s hair when he asks. </p><p>“<em>Please</em>,” Will begs playfully. “Please, let me taste you, Hannibal.” </p><p>He keeps his eyes on Hannibal’s eyes, still squeezed shut as he sucks his cock all the way back into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks to help bring him to the brink.</p><p>Will can mark the moment he loses control. Hannibal’s fingers in his hair draw a pained groan out of him and he thrusts up into the wet heat of his mouth at the same moment he throws his head back in abandon. He nearly chokes him, but it doesn’t matter; he can rip out strands of his hair, for all Will cares, as long as Will gets to see Hannibal come undone. </p><p>Will bobs once or twice more before Hannibal is thrusting up again, spilling into the back of his throat. He’s almost disappointed that it shoots so far back, barely any hits his tongue. It still tastes delightfully of Hannibal, bitter and exotic. </p><p>Hannibal’s cock, growing limp by the second, slips out of Will’s mouth and Will licks his lips with an accompanying swallow.</p><p>Hannibal’s chest is rising up and down and he smooths through Will’s hair frantically, as if to apologize for the harsh tugging. Will tucks him back into his briefs with an additional kiss over the front of his now zipped up pants. He crawls back into Hannibal’s lap and kisses him on the lips, properly.</p><p>Hannibal wastes no time in finding the bulge in his own pants, palming him through the fabric and Will shuffles away with a laugh. “Later,” he promises. Hannibal looks unconvinced, brows drawn together with concern. “I just wanted to try that, you can pay me back later. Whatever you want to do to me you can do to me, how’s that?” </p><p>Perhaps he shouldn’t have given him this much leeway. Hannibal’s smile turns malicious and he rewards him with a biting kiss to the neck which makes him shudder. </p><p>“I need to go buy dog food so our dog doesn’t eat all your fancy crap,” Will tells him. </p><p>Hannibal sighs. “Ah.”</p><p>Will hops up off his lap, content to ignore his erection in lieu of preparing for the arrival of their new puppy, when Hannibal asks, “Have you chosen a name?” </p><p>It’s a good question. Will shoots him with a devious look. “I decided you’d find Cocoa or Hershey to be tacky, so I’m letting you choose as long as you don’t make it too pretentious.” </p><p>Hannibal brightens up. “I think I can manage.” </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Aphrodite,” he decides. </p><p>“Are you kidding me?” </p><p>Hannibal crosses his arms where he sits beside Will on the porch, apparently firm in his decision. Will sighs, irritated. He welcomed this, of course. He should have expected Hannibal would want to name their dog after some Greek mythology hooha. At least he didn’t go for Persephone. </p><p>“Okay, but if she doesn’t come when you call her name, we’re naming her something else.” </p><p>“Deal.” </p><p>They only have to wait another half hour before a crimson red Jeep is rolling up their driveway and parking just behind their vastly more expensive car. It still shocks Will sometimes that he is technically considered rich now, and only because he lives with a rich man. It irks him to an extent, occasionally. He had grown up with nothing and probably will never get used to living in a home with a bidet and sheets Hannibal knows the thread count of. </p><p>Will stays on the porch as Hannibal makes his way over to greet the man he’d been exchanging emails with. They had agreed that side by side, they might spark up recognition. It is safer this way. </p><p>The man is short and stout, and hands the puppy to Hannibal abruptly, smacking him on the shoulder a few times as a laugh bellows from his shaking gut. Hannibal must have said something amusing. </p><p>As soon as Hannibal pays him, the man hops back in the car just as fast as he had stumbled out, apparently not even noticing Will on the porch. </p><p>The man seems to be in a hurry. It isn’t suspicious; it is more rude, and Will knows under different circumstances Hannibal might have suggested they kill him for the abrupt and incordial departure. But, he also knows Will refuses to think about murder today of all days. </p><p>Will rushes down the porch steps, meeting Hannibal in the middle of the driveway once the man is out of sight. Hannibal hands the dog to him easily, brushing his palms together as if the animal had been covered in dirt.</p><p>Aphrodite has a remarkably clean pelt, and she is chunky. A lovely light brown color. Will plays with the folds of her skin and delights in the little yipping sounds she makes. </p><p>“She licked my hand,” Hannibal states. </p><p>Will has a bad idea, then. He stretches out his arms, placing the puppy inches from Hannibal’s face and laughs out loud when she licks a broad stripe up Hannibal’s cheek. </p><p>“Will, please…” </p><p>“You’re going to have to get used to it. She might try to wake you up this way.”</p><p>“She is staying out of the bedroom,” Hannibal reminds.</p><p>“Except for tonight.” </p><p>Hannibal lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Except for tonight. Tonight only.” </p><p>Will holds Aphrodite snug to his chest when they return to the house and he immediately gets to work teaching her her new name. Hannibal watches them fondly for a noteworthy fifteen seconds before escaping into the study to work on his compositions. </p><p>The pup is eager to learn new tricks, and much to Will’s chagrin, has no problem responding to her new name. By the evening, she comes when he calls her name nine out of ten times. </p><p>Hannibal reluctantly returns to the vicinity to start making dinner, and Will follows him to the kitchen, Aphrodite shadowing every move with dainty steps.</p><p>Hannibal looks like he has something to say about a dog being in the kitchen, but Will speaks quickly before he can set any rules in stone, “She’s learned her name.” </p><p>“You work fast.” </p><p>“Having over five dogs will do that to you.” </p><p>The corners of Will’s lips twitch down as he remembers his dogs, Winston. When he thinks back on that time, he remembers the cold nights in Wolftrap. Snow surrounded him for acres while a flimsy sheet on his bed barely warmed him and his high fevers. Winston had been like a guardian angel of sorts and he can’t help but wonder where he is now. If he’s safe. </p><p>Hannibal seems to notice his glossed over stare and makes eye contact with their new puppy. “Aphrodite, come here please,” he orders. </p><p>She whines and looks up at Will who smiles down and nudges her with a foot. She trots closer to Hannibal and sniffs his hand before allowing him to pick her up. </p><p>“The kitchen is no place for a pet.” He talks to her like he would talk to any of his patients or colleagues. “Please strive to stay out of it.” </p><p>“Fat chance,” Will chuckles. </p><p>Hannibal places her gently back down to the floor and she curls up by his feet, content to disobey his demands. Will chuckles again and leans forward on the counter. </p><p>“You might be the master of the house, but no one’s gonna listen to you.” Will reaches over and pops a stray slice of carrot into his mouth. “Including me.” </p><p>“Rude,” Hannibal replies, unaffected. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“She must have tired herself rather quickly,” Hannibal observes. </p><p>Aphrodite is passed out on the bench of their porch, splayed out like roadkill beside them. Will laughs when he sees her, neck unnaturally craned back in exhaustion. She matches the brown cushions she collapsed on. </p><p>“Puppies fall asleep just about anywhere,” Will explains. “You’ve seriously never had a pet?” </p><p>Hannibal shakes his head once, scrolling through Tattlecrime heedlessly. They’ve been taking a stroll down memory lane while waiting for the fireworks to start. Will narrows his eyes at the headline; <em> Takes One To Know One </em>. </p><p>“Hell, I remember that one. Why are we even looking at this garbage?”</p><p>“You suggested it.” Hannibal’s smile stretches higher when he scrolls past the headline; <em> Chesapeake Ripper Rips Again </em>. </p><p>“Our dear Miss Lounds truly puts no effort into the titles of her articles,” he says. </p><p>“Should have actually killed her,” Will mumbles tiredly, half-asleep on Hannibal’s shoulder. Waking up early in Hannibal’s bed every morning has done nothing for his daily evening exhaustion. </p><p>“Perhaps one day.” Amusement seeps into Hannibal’s tone as he scrolls back to the top. “Though, I find her efforts towards keeping our names alive endearing.” </p><p>“She would bite her tongue if she knew what’s good for her. We’re dangerous.” </p><p>Hannibal glances between Will and Aphrodite. “Quite dangerous,” he grants. </p><p>A powerful sound pierces through the sky and Will perks up. He exchanges a quick glance with Hannibal before scrambling down the steps of the porch just in time to see the first firework explode above them. It crackles ferociously as it dissipates into blinding bright colors: blue, purple, green.</p><p>Composed and slow-moving, Hannibal joins his side just as the next series of fireworks are launched into the sky. These are smaller and clustered apart, abundant in their number. Orange and yellow light up the sky and Will grins, overtaken by the beauty of it. </p><p>Hannibal watches him carefully, parts his lips and takes a moment to ask, “Have you never seen fireworks?” </p><p>Will shakes his head. “Only ever heard them. Never cared to see them.” </p><p>Hannibal intertwines their hands and Will glances over to find mild shock having taken over his face. He is flattered to be experiencing Will’s first vision of fireworks, and he can see that it comes unexpected so he brings up their woven hands to kiss Hannibal’s knuckles in gratitude. </p><p>“Thank you,” he says for emphasis. </p><p>“I’ve done nothing,” Hannibal tells him in a whisper. </p><p>“Yes you have.” </p><p>They stare at each other until the bright colors bring Will’s eyes back to the sky. He is mesmerized by them for only a few minutes longer before Aphrodite’s mewling becomes unbearably distressed. </p><p>Will drops Hannibal’s hand, mutters, “Shit,” before returning to the porch. Hannibal follows him inside and they blankly watch Aphrodite hop up on the couch, curling up into a ball to go straight back to sleep, unwilling to be corralled into the bedroom or anywhere else for that matter. Will sucks his teeth, disappointed he won’t be able to get her to sleep in their bed for the one day Hannibal had promised. </p><p>“A glass of wine before we retire?” </p><p>Hannibal’s voice comes close to Will’s ear and he feels goosebumps form on his neck from it. </p><p>“Good idea.”</p><p>Hannibal breaks out a bottle of Loire Valley, a bit heavier than he’d care for before bed, but Will takes the glass eagerly, regardless. </p><p>“I’ve never felt more at peace,” Will acknowledges, words dawning from some unknown place inside him. “There’s nothing I’m worrying about tomorrow, nothing weighing on my mind. No troubles. No minor inconveniences. I’ve never had that. Is it strange that I’ve never had that?” </p><p>Hannibal’s nostrils flare over his wine glass before he takes a sip. “You have never felt comfortable in your own skin,” he reminds him. “You are allowed to be yourself now, with no ramifications.”</p><p>“There’s definitely ramifications, just not ones I have to worry about.” </p><p>“I suppose.” Hannibal smiles. “I have never felt more myself than when I am by your side.” </p><p>Will hums, thoughtful. </p><p>“I said something similar to Chiyoh once.” </p><p>Hannibal’s brows raise, beseeching. Will lets out a sigh, downing the rest of his drink before placing the empty glass on the counter. </p><p>“I told her that, I’ve never known myself as well as I know myself when I’m with you,” he admits steadily. </p><p>Hannibal’s lips part before a grin stretches wide across his face. </p><p>“When was this?” </p><p>“At your estate in Lithuania. Not long before she killed the tenant.” </p><p>Hannibal struggles to contain his giddiness, swishing his drink around as he tries to craft an image of what that must have looked like, in his mind. </p><p>“I’m heading to bed,” Will tells him in a warning tone. “Don’t let what I said go to your head.” </p><p>Will is barely in the door of their bedroom before Hannibal slips in behind him and slams the door shut, pressing him up against the wall, easily. He is stunned by the forcefulness, as Hannibal has been so gentle with him up until now. He arches back against him so Hannibal knows that it's more than okay. </p><p>“I believe reciprocation is in order,” Hannibal mutters into his ear before licking the lobe. Will whimpers, feeling Hannibal’s erection press into the crease of his ass.  </p><p>“Huh?” he responds stupidly. </p><p>It’s not until Hannibal reaches around him and grips him through his jeans that he remembers telling Hannibal after blowing him that he can do whatever he wants to him later on. <em> This </em>is later on. </p><p>“Fuck,” Will breathes as Hannibal fondles him and works his zipper down so he can slip his hand over his briefs. With only the thin layer of underwear between Hannibal’s hand and his cock, he’s having a lot of trouble forming words. </p><p>“What,” he gasps when Hannibal squeezes. “What do you want?” </p><p>“You told me anything,” Hannibal replies simply, voice still perilously close to his ear. “Are you still willing to do anything?”</p><p>Will whips around and crashes their mouths together. Hannibal balks for only a moment before shoving Will harder against the wall, gripping firmly at his ass and hips. </p><p>“As long as it’s not bondage and flogging. I’m a bit tired for that,” Will tells him with a playful bite to his nose and he’s rewarded with another hard kiss. He moans when Hannibal wantonly sucks on his tongue, obviously desperate for it. There is no humor in his eyes when he pulls back, only dark, unhinged lust. </p><p>“Get on the bed,” he orders. His voice is gentle, but his eyes are hostile. “Take off your clothes,” He adds when Will moves to do just that. With trembling hands, Will starts unbuttoning his shirt and watches with a rapt gaze as Hannibal digs into the top bedside drawer for the lube. </p><p>Will only vaguely recalls forgetting the condoms last time in the bathroom. He supposes it doesn’t matter. They’ve bled all over each other, tried to kill each other. If Will has anything to say about it, they are going to be fucking each other for the rest of their lives. There’s never been barriers between them, this included. </p><p>Hannibal rips off his shirt and tosses the lube on the bed before crawling over Will’s naked body. Being pressed into the mattress and surrounded entirely by Hannibal is an intoxicating feeling, and he gyrates against him, the friction of Hannibal’s trousers on his bare cock too good to stop. </p><p>He reaches down and tugs Hannibal’s pants off, dragging him closer when he’s naked. </p><p>They kiss and grope for a while like college students, before Hannibal reaches over Will and hands him the lube. </p><p>“I want you to make love to me,” he tells him with a soft kiss. “Please, Will.” </p><p>“You want,” For a thick few moments, Will’s voice dies in his throat. “You want me to fuck you? You’d <em> let </em>me fuck you?” </p><p>Hannibal frowns at his language, but kisses him again, a pleading gesture. </p><p>“Mark me as I’ve marked you,” he requests in a deep timbre, and it takes all of Will not to flip him on his back and take him instantly, lube be damned.</p><p>He’s a gentleman and a decent human being (aside from being a murderer), so he nudges Hannibal up on the bed so he’s lying on his back. He flounders for a pillow to shove under Hannibal hips before nearly knocking over the open bottle of lube onto the floor in his frantic rush. Hannibal grabs his wrist and gentles him with a smile.</p><p>“Patience.” </p><p>Will nods absently, head filled with white noise. </p><p>He forces himself to slow down as he coats his fingers diligently. Hannibal strokes a hand up his arm, and helps Will guide his lubed up fingers to his hole. Will presses lightly, eyes widening when he feels one slide through the tight rim. </p><p>“Is this okay?” The words spill out of Will’s mouth even as he moves his finger in and out, entranced by the searing warmth, so compact. He hadn’t been with many women before Molly and Molly never liked having fingers inside of her, so this feels very new, and overwhelming all at once. </p><p>It is nothing like fingering himself open. His hand doesn’t ache, and he can feel Hannibal loosen to the rhythm of his fingers as he adds a second one. Hannibal sucks in a breath. </p><p>“It is perfect,” he purrs, dragging Will closer so he can kiss him. </p><p>Will is under no illusion that Hannibal will be in any pain if he rushes through this, but he tries to thrust lazily and carefully nonetheless. </p><p>His cock throbs where he grinds it against Hannibal’s thigh, aching to be inside of him. He hadn’t thought of this as an option. A part of him never believed Hannibal would submit to this, let alone ask for it. </p><p>“Another one, Will,” he murmurs, and Will gives a shaky nod, providing three. Hannibal’s eyes flutter closed and he is focusing everything on relaxing and opening to the intrusion. </p><p>Will scissors his fingers in and out, watching the small twitches in Hannibal’s face when he curves them fractionally. He kisses his cheek and then his neck before whispering, “Tell me how you want it.”</p><p>Hannibal’s eyes open; they are glossed over with desire.</p><p>He grabs Will’s wrist and gently removes his fingers from his body. Will watches him flip over onto his stomach, wiggling his hips in an invitation. Will’s breath catches in his throat as he lines himself up, unable to drag this out any longer. </p><p>He runs his fingers over Hannibal’s dripping rim to gather excess lube. Hannibal’s hips twitch back, grinding against the head of Will’s dick as he’s slicking himself up.</p><p>“Christ, Hannibal,” he mumbles, pressing the tip of his dick against him. </p><p>Hannibal opens completely for him; Will slides all the way in with no resistance, and a broken groan escapes Hannibal’s throat when he bottoms out. </p><p>It feels like killing, all over again. Like sinking a knife into warm, supple flesh. Like watching the life drain from someone’s eyes. Like doing it with his <em> hands </em>. </p><p>Hannibal’s breathing is strained beneath him, and he lets out a soft, vulnerable sound when Will leans over his back, pushing himself even further into his body. Will kisses his neck, smelling the fresh and expensive shampoo in Hannibal’s hair. </p><p>He doesn’t know why he never thought this could be a possibility. Hannibal wants everything Will is willing to give him. There are thousands of circuits to be closed and mended, and he’s desperate for the accumulation of the finished product, like a thousand Christmas lights wrapped around their safe haven.</p><p>“Can I…” Will can’t finish the sentence, instead moving his hips slightly back before pressing in again to address the question. A sigh falls from Hannibal’s lips. </p><p>“Please.” </p><p>Will balances himself on one arm, slipping his fingers into Hannibal’s to intertwine their hands. He trails his other hand down Hannibal’s smooth sides until he’s gripping the firm flesh around his hip bone. He rests his forehead against the nape of Hannibal’s neck and uses the leverage to tug Hannibal hard against his cock. </p><p>Hannibal moans, loud and libidinous. </p><p>This spurs Will on to the point where he loses control. His thrusts remain gradual for a solid few seconds before he builds up a punishing rhythm, burying his cock in Hannibal’s tight heat over and over again, determined to chase his pleasure. He forgets who he is, where he is. He has never experienced pleasure like this. </p><p>Hannibal’s body arches up against him, and the sounds Will draws out of him are genuine, and guttural. Will can tell when he’s found his sweet spot, because Hannibal presses his face into the pillow he’s being pushed against, and tightens his fingers around Will’s so hard, Will fears he might break them. </p><p>Will bites his shoulder hard, out of instinct, and words stumble haphazardly out of Will’s mouth when Hannibal’s hole clamps down around his cock. </p><p>“You like that?”</p><p>Hannibal turns his head to the side, and Will can finally see his cheeks, pink and raw with sweat, hair plastered to his forehead. His lips are parted as he heaves in air, and he nods sluggishly. </p><p>Will sucks on the bruise he left, and Hannibal mumbles something incoherent, perhaps not even in English.</p><p>He slows down just enough so he can easily brush the hair out of Hannibal’s face and lean closer to give his ear a kiss before asking him, “What do you want, Hannibal?”</p><p>“Touch me,” his accent is thick around his words and Will’s hips stutter forward without his permission. He curses and reaches a hand under Hannibal’s body to comply. He doesn’t have the grip on his hip anymore, but they’re both so close that another few seconds of grinding will easily catapult them over the edge.</p><p>Will mutters words of devotion and love, confessions he won’t remember in the morning, as he wraps a hand around Hannibal’s cock. </p><p>A moan rumbles from Hannibal’s chest, and his back arches. He comes after another two firm strokes to his cock, painting the sheets with his spend. Will leans up and grabs his hips with both hands, fucking into the tight passage convulsing around his cock. It takes only a few seconds before he’s following him, orgasm crashing over him like an electrical current running through every bone and nerve ending in his body. </p><p>Will gently pulls out of him and falls on his back, nearly hyperventilating. He stares up towards the ceiling until Hannibal blocks his view, crawling over him for a kiss. </p><p>“Holy shit,” he breathes out, and Hannibal swallows his exclamations, kissing him with gratitude, with love, with everything that makes Will’s knees feel weak, even now, unbelieving that a man such as Hannibal can want him this much. </p><p>“You will be the death of me,” Hannibal tells him when he’s settled down against Will’s side. </p><p>“That’s my line,” Will mumbles back, exhaustion taking over. </p><p>They very nearly fall asleep, until a thought crosses Will’s mind. It is unwelcome, and startles him almost to tears. It is a betrayal of his mind that his vision tunnels to only this thought, so much that he has to voice it. </p><p>“I hate that we can’t stay here forever,” he whispers.</p><p>Hannibal says nothing, knowing he can’t soothe Will’s ache with empty promises. They will have to move from this house at one point, and go to another one of Hannibal’s many properties. It will be their lives, a small price to pay for living free, the way they were always meant to. Will, however, is not just thinking about their future in other countries. </p><p>“I hate that,” Will words come out strangled, “that we won’t die old men, together and,” he almost can't say it, "...happy." </p><p>“We will die together,” Hannibal affirms, tone dark with promise. He can’t assure they’ll die sun-kissed and worn of the world, together in a warm quilted bed, but he can assure that they’ll at least die in blood and glory, side by side. </p><p>“You can’t…they can still take us from each other, Hannibal.” </p><p>“I will not let that happen.” </p><p>Will isn’t sure he believes him, but he lets Hannibal hold him close as he buries his emotions into his skin. The fear and discomfort fade after a few minutes of Hannibal stroking his hair. The overwhelming solemn feeling begins to fade along with the desperation to know what the grandiosity of their future holds. For now, this is enough. </p><p>“I left the tablet outside,” Hannibal says, extracting himself from Will’s arms. “I must retrieve it in case it rains.” </p><p>Will scoffs, but lets him go. He watches him get dressed again, and disappear out the door of their bedroom. He falls back against the sheets, absent-mindedly thinking that he should probably get something to clean the semen off the sheets before it dries completely. </p><p>He is slowly drifting when a large bang erupts from outside. </p><p>Will sits up, automatically glancing at the window. He doesn’t see any bright lights in the dark, and he thought the fireworks had ended already. </p><p>He shimmies into his pants, and throws on a white t-shirt before retracing his way back through the living room, and out to the porch. He doesn’t immediately see Hannibal, confused to find the tablet still on the bench. </p><p>When he turns, he nearly collapses. </p><p>Hannibal is sitting in a pool of blood beside an unconscious man, possibly dead. The man is wearing all black, and he lies at the bottom of the porch steps. It takes one volatile, mind-numbing moment to realize Hannibal is not dead too. He is clutching his neck, and Will then realizes the noise had been a gunshot. </p><p>Hannibal looks up at him, teeth gritted in his desperation to keep the blood from flowing out of his wound. Will breaks out of his paralyzing reverie and is about to rush over, when Hannibal croaks out,</p><p>"Call Chiyo.”</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>sorry not sorry lads, hopefully i cant get out the next chapter soon. xoxo as always!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Will rushes down the steps and tells him, “I’ll call her after I take care of you.” </p><p>“Call Chiyo,” he repeats, edging on choleric.</p><p>“I’m telling you <em> after </em>,” Will barks out.</p><p>Hannibal seems to realize arguing with Will is going to get him nowhere, so he grumpily succumbs to the help he is being offered. </p><p>“Get me into the house,” he grits out the order when Will’s knees buckle and he falls to the ground beside him. This, is a more reasonable request. Hannibal circles an arm around Will’s shoulders, keeping the other pressed firmly to the side of his own neck.</p><p>“Are you sure he’s dead?” Will questions, gesturing to the man in black.</p><p>“I snapped his neck.” </p><p>“You snapped Mason’s neck.” </p><p>“With the intention of keeping him alive,” Hannibal reminds, though he looks as if he’s second guessing himself. “Just get me to the couch in the living room and you can check for yourself.” </p><p>Will hauls him up, and they take slow, calculated steps while ascending to the porch. He leads Hannibal easily into the living room, plopping him down next to Aphrodite who wakes from the commotion. She whimpers and licks at Hannibal’s arm. </p><p>Will looks him in the eye. “Do you need a hospital? Yes or no, don’t toy with me.” </p><p>“No,” Hannibal swallows with a wince. “This house is equipped for emergencies. He remarkably didn’t hit any major arteries or I would likely be unable to speak.” </p><p>Hannibal winces again, and Will sees the reflection of deep red in his mouth. </p><p>“Fuck,” he mutters. “You need to stop speaking now. Just <em> stay </em>there, try to remember what we need. I’ll be right back.” </p><p>Hannibal breathes fixedly, and nods once before Will takes off back toward the porch. He stumbles down the steps in his hurry, and presses two fingers, now stained in Hannibal’s blood to the side of the man’s neck. It is too difficult to tell if he is alive, with all the adrenaline and anxiety swirling around inside of Will. He pats the man down and finds a dagger in his sock. </p><p>No room for mistakes. </p><p>Will grips the handle with two hands before jabbing the man in the heart with the blade. No reaction except for the body jostling with force of Will’s maiming. He lifts up the dagger again, stabbing once more, twice more, as many times as it takes until the hole in the man’s body can be described as more of a pit than a stab wound.</p><p>Will drops the knife and wipes his hands on his shirt, knowing he’ll have to burn it anyway. He’ll never get bloodstains out of white clothes</p><p>“The closet in the study,” Hannibal rasps when he returns. “Bring…” His eyes glaze over and his eyes focus on the middle distance and Will can’t tell if he’s lost his train of thought or is losing too much blood to function properly. </p><p>He plops down in front of Hannibal and snaps his fingers in front of his eyes. “Hey,” he exclaims desperately, “What do I need to bring?” </p><p>Hannibal looks at him, appearing adrift. </p><p>Swallowing his restlessness, Will pets through Hannibal’s hair. “You know what? Stay here.” He swiftly kisses his sweat-sheen forehead, darting to the study. The closet there is filled with various first aid kits, an IV, and a hell of a lot of bandages. Will grabs as much as can fit in his hands and hurries back to the living room. </p><p>He sets them down in a bundle on the coffee table and grabs Hannibal’s free hand to ground him, “Tell me what to do.” </p><p>“The bullet,” Hannibal mutters, looking over the medical supplies. “You need to take out the bullet.” </p><p>“Right.” Will digs through a few first aid kits, many of them for very different situations. Finally, he comes across a scalpel that will do the job. He wields it in his right hand, veering to the side of Hannibal that had been shot. “I’ve never done this.” </p><p>“You don’t need to worry about hurting me,” Hannibal affirms, and cautiously removes his hand. A nervous noise escapes Will’s throat as he watches blood ooze from the wound. Just above Hannibal’s trapezius, so very close to his throat. “Will, if you’re shaking, you’re going to do more damage.”</p><p>“<em>Sorry</em>,” Will blurts out defensively at first, then apologetic. “Sorry, I’ll…” </p><p>He can see the bullet. It isn’t deep; he’s surprised there isn’t an exit wound. The man must have just meant to incapacitate him, but was too slow to do anything more than get close. </p><p>Hannibal makes no noise as he edges the bullet to the surface, gradual as a sloth. Will puts all his focus into remaining calm. If Hannibal says he doesn’t need a hospital, then he doesn’t need one. Plain and simple. He will be fine, once he puts a stop to the bleeding and gets this damn metal out of his body. </p><p>Hannibal’s top lip curls up slightly when he breaches the bullet from his skin. It slides easily through the open wound. </p><p>He slams the scalpel and bullet down on a tray in the medkit and his hands begin to shake again as he works to open a bottle of rubbing alcohol. He pours a dollop on the wound, reminded of the time Hannibal did the same for him in Florence. Time was different then.</p><p>He tends to the wound as gently as he can manage. </p><p>“Now the bandages,” Hannibal says softly. His face is pale, and Will can still see how blood coats the inside of his mouth a bright red. A darker part of him wants to kiss it, taste it all. </p><p>Will steadfastly presses gauze against the wound, and wraps a tight bandage around his neck all the way around his waist. It is the only way it can stay secure around his body. He stretches the bandages three times around, fourth for good measure. Once he’s finished, Hannibal leans back against the couch with a sigh. </p><p>Hannibal’s chest is heaving as adrenaline drains from his body, and Will feels like passing out. </p><p>He almost forgets Aphrodite is on the couch, diligently remaining by Hannibal’s side during the entire affair. He manages a small smile when he sees her watching Hannibal, with her nose resting against his wrist. </p><p>The veil of shock slowly lifts. </p><p>Two trains colliding couldn’t create a more volatile explosion.</p><p>“Fuck,” Will blurts out and collapses onto his knees on the floor, hugging Hannibal’s leg tight to his body. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fucking <em> fuck </em>,” he half-sobs into his thigh. </p><p>“Will, I am alright.”</p><p>“He could have killed you. He could have shot you in the fucking head.” </p><p>“He’d never have the chance,” Hannibal tugs on his shoulders. Will is convulsing with shaky breaths and desperate blustering. “Come here, please.” </p><p>It is the hardest thing he has ever done, just detaching himself from Hannibal’s leg and standing up so he can sit beside him instead. He looks up at Hannibal through long, wet lashes. </p><p>There is no preamble. </p><p>“You must call Chiyo.”</p><p>Hannibal’s voice is much more gentle than average, as if talking to a child. He is using Will’s vulnerability to urge him to do this now, and he can’t even slap him because he’s injured. With a grunt, Will paws around for the house phone on the counter beside the couch. He dials her number and when Hannibal reaches for the phone, Will swats his hand away. </p><p>“You will shut up, and just keep breathing. That’s all I want you doing,” Will tells him sternly, standing up to pace over to the bookshelves. He leans his weight against it and Chiyoh picks up on the third ring. </p><p>“Konbanwa, Chiyoh,” Will says quietly. </p><p>There is silence save for her even breaths.</p><p>“Where is he?” she asks finally.</p><p>“Shot,” Will explains. “He told me to call you.”</p><p>“Who shot him?” Chiyoh asks calmly. Will envies her ability to remain in control of her faculties, though he knows she must be kicking herself. </p><p>Will looks to Hannibal who shakes his head. He doesn’t know. He knows as much as Will does in this moment. </p><p>“A man dressed in all black. Hannibal doesn’t know. He’s alive if you’re wondering,” he adds sarcastically. </p><p>“Obviously he’s alive. You wouldn't have called me otherwise.” </p><p>Will purses his lips, and avoids shooting back with a retort. </p><p>“I will arrive tomorrow. Keep the body for inspection," she tells him and hangs up without giving him a chance to respond. Will huffs and places the phone back down. </p><p>"She's coming tomorrow," he mutters.</p><p>"I heard."</p><p>Will won't punch an injured man. He won't, but he wants to.</p><p>"Up," Will bites out, hooking an arm around Hannibal's back and under his arms to help him carefully stand. "Come on." </p><p>He leads Hannibal to their bedroom where he helps him lay down horizontally. There is a small stain of blood steadily growing as it leaks through the bandages. Will's fingers flutter around it, as if he can magically force the blood back inside Hannibal's body.</p><p>"You need to stop getting shot."</p><p>"I have many people who want me dead," Hannibal says, edging too closely on the side of proud.</p><p>"You need stitches," Will whispers, trailing his fingers featherlight over the damp spot on his bandages. An onslaught of fear runs through his body again. It washes over him like a bad cold, all levels of nausea making him sweat.</p><p>"Soon." Hannibal keeps his breathing steady. "Give me a minute and then you can get to work on that."</p><p>"Who was he?" </p><p>Hannibal blinks fast, not looking at Will.</p><p>"You know."</p><p>"I don't." </p><p>Will snarls, digging his nails into Hannibal's thigh. </p><p>"Enlighten me on who it <em> could </em>be. I can see in your eyes you know something."</p><p>Hannibal regards him with a frown, taking a moment to articulate himself properly. "This happened so soon after the gift we left for Jack and the FBI had been discovered. Someone knows we are alive, and they have a <em> personal </em>vendetta against me or you. Otherwise, I'm sure our location would have been released to the press. Freddie Lounds hasn't had so much of a whisper leading her in the right direction. It could be...Alana. With her money, she could hire private investigators in every corner of the world."</p><p>Will does see red then. He can barely think for the hot steam that replaces the blood in his veins. He grips Hannibal's leg tighter, staring pointedly at his wound.</p><p>"We'll kill her."</p><p>"We do not know for certain if this was her doing."</p><p>"You made a promise to her anyway," Will spits. "What's the difference?"</p><p>With brute force, Hannibal grabs the wrist by his thigh and tugs it under his chin to drag Will closer. "Etiquette is tasteful." </p><p>Will stares at him resolutely, unwilling to crumble. He will kill anyone involved, and for the first time in this new life, he does not picture himself being hassled back into a cage. Instead, he pictures himself and Hannibal victorious, looming over a mound of corpses.</p><p>Hannibal's grip slackens and he glances between them. </p><p>"It would be foolish to go to the states again, anyhow. We are headline news at the moment."</p><p>"I doubt Alana is even <em> in </em>the states anymore, Hannibal," Will notes, tugging his arm back. He sits cross-legged, eyes fixing on his wound again, almost as if guarding the bandages from vanishing into thin air.</p><p>"You're right too," Hannibal mutters. His eyes close for a moment too long and Will shakes his shoulder. </p><p>"I need to stitch you up," he reminds, a fraction apologetic. </p><p>Hannibal nods, gesturing for Will to go retrieve the medical kits. "Chiyoh will be here tomorrow. Then, we will know more. She is a dauntless hunter."</p><p>Whilst Will is pulling a needle and thread through his skin, he thinks about all the times Hannibal must have done this as a Doctor. Cured people, helped people, stitched stitches. The needle slides slick through the frayed flesh without so much as a noise, and Will feels himself breaking. </p><p>“I am sorry,” Hannibal tells him, sincerely. It isn’t his fault, for the first time ever, Hannibal doesn’t have to apologize, but he does. It is a weaker urge now, to hit him. </p><p>“I don’t want to move from here,” Will utters, jerking the needle through the last portion of punctured flesh. It closes the wound, and he wraps new bandages around the spot, feebly praying that Hannibal won’t make any strenuous moves in the night that could pop them out. </p><p>“We may not have to,” Hannibal replies when he’s finished.</p><p>“Bullshit.” Will won’t entertain the muted caterwauling any further, getting up to clean off the blood from his hands in the bathroom sink instead. </p><p>Will stares at himself in the mirror, splashing water up into his face, and watches droplets fall from his now wet brows, hairline. His lips glisten and he splashes water on his face again, and again, soaking his face until the untethered rage crawling beneath his skin starts to diminish, and he can see in clear, normal colors. </p><p>He towels off, brushes his teeth and returns to bed.</p><p>Will tugs the bed sheets over Hannibal’s body and crawls in beside him, careful not to put any weight on the wound as he hugs Hannibal’s arm to his chest and trails his fingers down his abdomen. </p><p>“Don’t die,” he demands. “If I wake up and you’re dead, there will be hell to pay.”</p><p>Hannibal huffs out an uncharacteristic laugh. “If I can promise you at least one thing, it is that I won’t die from this injury.” </p><p>“You always known when best to lie,” Will whispers, feeling himself drift. </p><p>Hannibal doesn’t respond, and his muscles grow lax under Will’s fingertips. They drift together, and slowly allow sleep to envelop them and their dwindling tension. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Will wakes up to dog breath and a hot tongue licking under his chin. He grimaces and gently pushes Aphrodite off of his chest so he can sit up. </p><p>Hannibal is gone from his side, and he valiantly ignores the rush of panic that rises to the surface. He can hear voices traveling in from the living room, and remembers Chiyoh’s arrival. Aphrodite whines as he focuses on getting dressed and ready, and not on feeding her. </p><p>In the living room, Hannibal appears fractionally more vibrant, and he is sitting down, which Will is thankful for. He’s sure Chiyoh has been bossing him around just as much as he had been last night. He nods to the two of them before disappearing into the kitchen to pour Aphrodite’s food out into a bowl. He refills her water, eavesdropping on the conversation from behind one of the islands. </p><p>“You do realize I can’t be certain,” Chiyoh tells him. “It is merely a hunch.”</p><p>“A thoroughly researched hunch,” Hannibal replies. </p><p>“I could spend more time looking into it, to be sure.”</p><p>“Time is what we don’t have. Will wishes to stay here, and I intend to allow that.”</p><p>“Foolish.” </p><p>Will enters the room, keeping his distance from the two of them. He leans up against the archway and asks, “What’s with the cryptic?” </p><p>Chiyoh’s nostrils flare and Will notices that she has brought her gun into their house. It is lying flat on the coffee table by her left knee where she stands. Hannibal smiles over at him.</p><p>“Chiyoh believes she knows who sent our beloved guest,” he explains. “More so, she is positive it is not the Verger estate we are after.”</p><p>Will frowns. “If not Alana, who? Jack? You know he wouldn’t leave room for mistakes this time if he knows where we are. He’d come guns blazing with the fucking cavalry.” </p><p>Chiyoh and Hannibal exchange glances, and Chiyoh very nearly rolls her eyes as she sighs and turns to face Will.</p><p>“There is a man you are acquainted with I believe, Frederick Chilton. He has been boasting to the press about establishing a bounty for Hannibal’s….skin.” </p><p>Will balks. </p><p>“It’s not on Tattlecrime,” he counters. </p><p>“Freddie Lounds does not believe Chilton to be serious, as most major press companies would side with. He is not exactly an unbiased or legitimate source, even for Miss Lounds’ standards,” Hannibal admits. “However, he has been idiotically clear about who he wants to donate skin grafts to him.” Donate is an incredibly poor choice of diction. </p><p>“Why not me? I’m the one who got him burned, debatably.” </p><p>“I don’t think it’s a matter of why, more a matter of how to stop him,” Chiyoh butts in.</p><p>“We will find him and kill him,” Hannibal suggests. </p><p>“Find him where? If Alana’s out of the country, you can be next to sure he’s followed in her footsteps,” Will says bitterly. He finally moves across the room to sit beside Hannibal, and pulls back the hem of his shirt slightly to see his bandages; they are fresh, redone. </p><p>Hannibal smiles warmly at him. </p><p>“Chiyoh traced the last calls made on the man’s burner phone. They were made to the Bahamas. It is another reason I believe this to be Frederick and not Alana,” he says.</p><p>A wry laugh falls from Will’s lips. “The Bahamas. Of course Chilton would hide there.” </p><p>“He has the money,” Hannibal replies. </p><p>“I wonder if the Bahamas cater to hideously burned tourists,” Will jokes, and Hannibal grins, laughter in his eyes. </p><p>Chiyoh picks up her gun and straps it to her breast, apparently at the end of her rope. She had never been much for unnecessary conversation, always looking blank in the face when Will would drone on and on about Hannibal while on the train to Florence.</p><p>“I would not suggest going anywhere for at least another week,” she states.</p><p>“We don’t have a week. We leave tomorrow,” Hannibal contends.</p><p>Chiyoh looks to Will, wordlessly (and expressionlessly) imploring him to change Hannibal’s mind. Will doesn’t like to be put in the middle of familial arguments, but he supposes he agrees with her on this one.</p><p>“Hannibal, you arguably need more time to recover than a week, but that’s the bare minimum. We can’t efficiently ‘hunt’ him in the Bahamas with you in this state.” </p><p>Even with Chilton in his state, Hannibal still needs to be able to walk properly. </p><p>Hannibal clenches his jaw and sighs through his nose. “Chilton may have already received a call from our guest about our whereabouts. He is cocky as much as he is stupid, he won’t go to the police, but he might send others. We don’t have the time.”</p><p>“We’ll stay up in shifts,” Will tries. “Make sure nobody comes in after us at night. But, I’m not going anywhere until you can at least move without risking your stitches coming out.” </p><p>“One must listen to his Nakama,” Chiyoh adds, with a shocking amount of sentiment. Will looks up at her, wondering if this could technically be the first compliment he’s ever received from her. To be considered Hannibal’s Nakama once more. </p><p>Hannibal, who seemed on the verge of arguing until the sun set, yields to Chiyoh’s vexing, and nods once. Will holds himself back from kissing his shoulder, instead, intertwining their fingers together to show his gratitude. </p><p>“I can stay, if you require my assistance,” Chiyoh says. </p><p>“No,” Hannibal shakes his head. “You will not be involved. Just make sure a flight to the Bahamas is secured for next week. See if you can find his exact address, while you’re at it.” </p><p>“Of course.” </p><p>She tightens the fastenings of her holster and vanishes from the house as if she was never here. She always looks like she is going off to war, when she leaves. It is something Will has come to admire, and he wonders if she has begun to admire him too. Wonders if she’ll ever stop seeing him as a threat. </p><p>Will kisses Hannibal properly, and he graciously accepts it. </p><p>“I’m sorry if I’ve been cruel. Yesterday scared the hell out of me.”</p><p>Hannibal raises a brow. “I’ve been equally flippant. There is no need for apology.” </p><p>Will brings Hannibal’s palm to his cheek so he can feel the warmth of his skin, blood still pumping in his veins, breathing completely steady. Though Hannibal had assured him of his safety, seeing his body gone from the bed this morning had left a poisonous seed in his gut, one not easily decontaminated. </p><p>Hannibal runs his thumb over the short beard on Will’s cheek fondly, and Will kisses his fingertips as he trails them down to his chin. </p><p>“If Cordell had succeeded in taking your face, I’m sure I would have killed every living person on this Earth.” </p><p>“That might have taken some time,” Will jibes. “Why is it people want our skin so bad? Is it our superlative dermal hygiene?” </p><p>Hannibal chuckles. “Perhaps, though I suspect Chilton would be happy with anyone else’s skin at the moment, he just prefers to have mine.” </p><p>“I’ve wanted him dead since my court case,” Will reveals. “He disgusts me.” </p><p>“He is quite rude,” Hannibal concedes.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The next few days, Hannibal spends much of his time on and off calls with Chiyoh. It turns out finding a man in hiding’s exact location is much more difficult than it seems, even knowing Chilton is residing in the Bahamas. </p><p>Will walks into the study one day to find Hannibal using a strange voice over the phone, and it takes Will almost no time to guess he is not speaking to Chiyoh, but the manager of a hotel if he’s not mistaken. Hannibal is describing Chilton perfectly, and it astounds Will when the person on the other end actually remembers seeing him. He supposes a burn victim of this caliber is hard to miss.</p><p>Will rushes over to Hannibal’s work desk to fetch pencil and paper, but Hannibal shakes his head at him, brushing him off. He continues over the phone with an ecstatic, upbeat tone.</p><p>“Oh, I’m sorry, that would be him. If possible could you call me if he chooses to change hotels or rooms? His brother wanted me to keep his upcoming birthday party a surprise. He likes to travel so often, so of course that makes it difficult. If you do I’ll be forever in your debt, and I’d be honored to be in debt to a woman with such a beautiful voice.”</p><p>Will’s eyes narrow and Hannibal crosses his legs indignantly. </p><p>“You would? Oh, bless your heart. I will remember this, Caroline, thank you.” </p><p>He hangs up and tells Will in his natural accent, “He is at the Ocean Club, a four seasons resort in Nassau.”</p><p>“How the hell did you find that out?” Will asks in wondrous disbelief. </p><p>The corners of Hannibal’s lips turn down and he says, “You never asked how I was able to figure out your address locked inside my cell. I have ways.” </p><p>The room feels colder, and Will refuses to think of Molly and the Dragon right now. He merely nods, and does not approach the subject again. Later in the week, a day before they will be flying to Nassau, Will says, “Chilton might be stupid, but he isn’t mentally challenged.”</p><p>“Arguable,” Hannibal interrupts. </p><p>Will cocks his head in acquiescence. “He chose the resort for a reason. It is high end, busy all year round. Many rich and well-informed Americans take trips to the Bahamas. This isn’t like staying at a dingy motel and stalking through the woods to get to Bedelia’s house. Knowing him, I’m certain he’ll have his bodyguards with him.” </p><p>They are lying in bed and it feels all too familiar to the night before their trip to America. Though, Will feels the difference in the air. He feels it in the way his lungs constrict when he glances at the bandages still wrapped around Hannibal’s body; holding him together, for now. </p><p>“He’s never upgraded to more than two. I could take more than ten,” Hannibal whispers. </p><p>“In this state?” </p><p>Hannibal turns his head, expression somber. “What could I do to convince you that I am able-bodied. Might I do a cartwheel?” He inches closer, “or shall I convince you with more delectable methods.” A hand slides around Will’s waist with intent, and Will swats the hand away. </p><p>“I’m serious.”</p><p>“There will be nothing that can stop me from killing him, and getting out of this situation with you alive by my side. We will return home before the memories even start to sink into your mind palace and stain your thoughts with their gruesome beauty.” </p><p>“I believe you,” Will says quietly. “Hell, I have no clue why, but I believe you.” </p><p>“As you should.” </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It feels like a vacation, which is in every way wrong and vile, but Will can’t help but take in the smells, sounds, music. The hotel is lavish and the smell of chlorine and salt water fill his nostrils in a pleasant way. He forgets they are here to kill and he subsequently forgets Chilton could walk into the lobby at any moment. It would be so strange and out of place to see him here. </p><p>He and Hannibal are dressed in floral wear, like tourists. It had been meant as a gesture not to stick out like sore thumbs, but with the white walls and floors, their bright orange and yellow shirts stick out more like a sore and swollen leg. Luckily, no one seems to recognize them. Not with their sunhats and and a camera that remains close to Will’s face at all times in the guise that he is a photographer. Hannibal on the other hand, invested in really large cartoonish sunglasses. </p><p>He feels like they are in a heist film. It is somewhat exhilarating in a childish sort of way. </p><p>There are indeed two bodyguards posted outside of Chilton’s room. It is more of a small house, considering the size. Of course Chilton couldn’t have hidden away in some small motel that doesn’t cost nearly a thousand grand a day. </p><p>The plan is simple. Wait for a break. The bodyguards cannot stand by the door all day long. They will be changing shifts, or taking some sort of lunchtime recess. </p><p>They don’t have to wait long at all. Either they caught them just on the verge of a shift change, or Chilton’s bodyguards are slackers who go for a drink far too often. They are chatty, bulky men, who don’t even bother to look around and search the surroundings before leaving Chilton’s room bare and defenseless. </p><p>
  <em> Tick tock, Frederick, time’s up. </em>
</p><p>There is no time to overthink their actions. </p><p>Will and Hannibal move in, and find the door remarkably open. Will has to hold back a spiteful comment about Chilton being a raging dumbass, as they enter discreetly. </p><p>“Room service!” Will calls in a high pitched British voice. </p><p>Hannibal smirks wide when they hear Chilton’s smarmy voice, well-known by the two of them, call out, “Come on in!” </p><p>Chilton is lounging on a couch in the living room portion of his suite. His shoes are up on the cushions, and he looks dressed for a fancy dinner that he will not be making. </p><p>“Good evening, Frederick,” Hannibal croons as he strolls into the room. </p><p>“Jesus fucking Christ!” Frederick shouts, and rolls off the couch in his alarm. Will is too fast for him, and it is almost pathetic the way he stumbles and easily falls into the spider’s web. They duct tape his mouth shut and strap him to the nearest chair. </p><p>Frederick whimpers through the tape, and Will knows when it comes off, it’ll smart like a bitch on his still healing burns. He looks much more human now, but hideous still, covered in flimsy grafts of skin. His teeth before Will had taped over them had jutted out of his lips, still mostly gone. The Doctor’s haven’t done much to fix him at all, or they've done quite a poor job. </p><p>Hannibal and Will sit across from him, both looking him over languidly. </p><p>“I have to say Frederick, it is a good thing you are staying inside. With this face, you’d draw even more attention than we do,” Hannibal says in a cheerful tone. </p><p>“Uglier than I thought anybody could be,” Will drones.</p><p>Frederick’s eyes are full of fear, and Will doesn’t want to relish this like he did Bedelia’s death. Frederick is no fun. He will do anything they say out of fear, and he will not challenge them like Bedelia, or even Alana would. Will nudges Hannibal to get him to hurry up.</p><p>“We just got here, Will. It is only polite to let our dear Frederick have a turn to speak before we…lay out our conditions.” </p><p>Hannibal raises his arms toward Chilton, signaling to Will,<em> you have the honors</em>.  </p><p>Unceremoniously, Will leans forward and brutally rips the tape from Frederick’s mouth. </p><p>“If you scream, we kill you, simple as that.” </p><p>Frederick does shout, but immediately snaps his mouth shut. It is out of pain, and Will’s pretty sure the tape ripped off fragments of his healing skin when he’d tugged it back. </p><p>They wait while he breaths in short, nervous bursts. </p><p>“You’ll kill me anyway. You’re not going to let me get out of here alive. So why wouldn’t I scream?” he asks, rushed. </p><p>“How about a slow and painful death if you scream. A short, painless one if you don’t,” Will allows. He dangles the tape. “I can put it back on, if you prefer.”</p><p>Chilton shakes his head violently. “No! Please, don’t.” </p><p>“It is a shame our time together has come to an end,” Hannibal tells him. “I did find your company quite amusing. I still have a copy of your book in our house.” </p><p>Chilton’s gaze flicks between them, and his eyes droop in understanding. Will holds back the shuddery pleased noise that begs to escape his throat. He adores that look; he might be addicted to it. When someone realizes he belongs to Hannibal, that Hannibal belongs to him. In <em> that </em>way, in every way. </p><p>“Alana Bloom will eventually want to sleep at night without wondering if you’re coming to kill her or her child. Jack Crawford isn’t going to wait around forever, he’ll use other means to find you. Freddie Lounds still has that anonymous tip line on her website. You can’t run forever,” Chilton’s shaky voice betrays his confidence. “Killing me won’t make them stop. They’ll just keep coming, and coming. You’ll never stop looking over your shoulder. You’ve done too much damage to be allowed that privilege.” </p><p>Will laughs, glancing at Hannibal to enjoy his shared amusement.</p><p>“We’re not boasting about our endeavours through half-baked news reporters who majored in yellow journalism, Frederick. I’m sure we’ll manage.” </p><p>“Why don’t you just kill me right now?” he pleads. </p><p>“We need to make sure your men won’t find us,” Hannibal explains. “Will you be so kind as to call them off for us? Remember, a slow death if you do not cooperate.”</p><p>“Perhaps if you do what you’re told we won’t feed you to our dog,” Will adds for good measure. Chilton’s eyes widen and he grasps for the phone in his pocket. </p><p>“A message to your news outlets stating that the bounty will no longer be accessible should suffice,” Hannibal says, nodding towards his phone. “Let me see the messages when you’re done.” </p><p>Chilton’s fingers are burned too, but not nearly as charred as Will remembers them. He watches him type frantically, grimacing as he goes. He glances up once with a frenzied gaze directed towards Will who deflects it effortlessly. Begging is pathetic. He does not care for it, nor does he care for any so-called history between them. Frederick has done more harm than good as far as he’s concerned.</p><p>Chilton hands the phone over to Hannibal and draws his hand back sharply when Hannibal’s fingers brush over his. His fear is palpable, and Will wants to prod at it. He wonders if this is what Hannibal felt like when he saw the potential in Will’s encephalitis-addled brain. He wants to poke offensively, make it worse, like rubbing salt into an open wound just for the pain. </p><p>“Wonderful!” Hannibal praises. “Knife or strangulation?” </p><p>“W-What?” Chilton stammers. </p><p>“You heard him,” Will says, patience wearing thin. </p><p>Tears well up in Chilton’s eyes and he swallows around his nerves before muttering, “Knife.” Hannibal grins and tries handing Will the knife, but Will shakes his head.</p><p>“You got shot because of him, I want you to have the honors.” Hannibal merely smiles and stalks around the back of Frederick’s chair. Will leans forward and whispers, “I’m going to enjoy this.” </p><p>Chilton looks like he is about to scream again, so Hannibal covers his mouth with a hand, using it to draw his head back. His neck is bared. Chilton thrashes and Will grabs his legs while Hannibal draws the knife to his neck. “Hopefully you will not be ugly in your afterlife,” Hannibal says before slitting the rough column of his throat. </p><p>Blood splatters all over Will’s face and he groans, tasting the iron and feeling the all encompassing heat of it against his dry skin. It is a sensation not unlike a lukewarm shower. </p><p>"I wish we could have savored it more."</p><p>Plainly, Hannibal states, "I find he does not deserve that much." He slips a note for Jack into the crevices of Chilton's fingers. He takes the phone and they gather up any belongings or technology that could potentially lead Jack to their location. There is nothing much other than the burner phones he's been using, and a small map he's been pinning colorful thumbtacks to. Will can picture him laughing by himself, narrowing down their location because he has nothing else to do while his skin grows in, warped.</p><p>“Take a shower. Be thorough,” Hannibal tells him, pointing in the direction of Chilton’s bathroom. The blood drying on Will’s face begins to cling uncomfortably and he nods his assent, stripping down efficiently and doing as Hannibal demands. </p><p>Chiyoh will be waiting with the small private jet just off the coast of Arawak Cay. </p><p>“He’s right you know,” Will says when they’re back on the plane, without so much as a threat on their backpedaling journey. “We’re not the only ones with unfinished business. Alana and Jack, many people are looking for us. The FBI doesn’t have nearly as much motivation as our enemies.” </p><p>“Our enemies,” Hannibal muses, staring up at the white ceiling of the jet. He had gotten one with a bed this time around, and they’re cornered off in a small private area, lying atop it. The excuse had been so he could rest easily with his still-sensitive wound, but Will suspects foul play. </p><p>“Enemies is a generous term,” Will concedes. “Familiar nuisances.” </p><p>Hannibal turns, on his good side, facing Will.</p><p>“I hope Aphrodite is not too lonely without us.” </p><p>Will frowns at the change of subject. “Yeah. She should be fine, but she might be bitchy when we get back. I used to leave the dogs at home more often than not, and they still never got used to it. Buster would cry when I got home.” </p><p>Hannibal strokes Will’s cheek and draws him in for a kiss. Under the guise of consolation, his tongue slips into his mouth and a leg insinuates itself between Will’s legs. Will chuckles against Hannibal’s lips.</p><p>“I knew you got the jet with a bed for another reason.”</p><p>“I am experiencing something similar to withdrawal,” Hannibal mutters, kissing Will until he grows pliant; he sucks on Will’s tongue and earns a whimper. </p><p>They haven’t had sex since before Hannibal got shot. Didn’t want to aggravate the wound before the big trip. Couldn’t risk it. </p><p>Will is still riding high on the thrill of the kill. He allows Hannibal to tug his shirt over his head and descend down his chest, sucking and kissing the blank canvas he finds there. With a heavy gaze, he watches Hannibal kiss and mouth his nipples and down the freckles on his sternum, and wonders if he would like to gut him again. If it is an urge he has, even now. </p><p>Hannibal flips him around on his stomach rather suddenly and he feels air ripped from his body in a surprised huff. </p><p>“Maybe we shouldn’t do this with the flight attendants around,” Will suggests, though his cock has already started to fill, ever since Hannibal’s tongue probed his mouth. </p><p>“They know not to bother us,” Hannibal mumbles, kissing his spine and tracing it with his lips even as Will arches. </p><p>“If you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly quiet.” </p><p>Hannibal hums, an affirmation that he has in fact noticed and does not give a damn in the slightest. </p><p>He reaches his hands around Will’s pants and unfastens his trousers so efficiently, it makes Will’s cock throb. He grunts when the pants are torn from his legs in one fell swoop. God knows where Hannibal throws them when he leans up and kisses the nape of Will’s neck, trailing back down in fervency. </p><p>Will can hear him sniffing along his spine like a foxhound.</p><p>“You trying to see if you can find any incriminating scents on me again?” Will asks, casually. He knows it’s dangerous to bring up that time with Freddie Lounds, but teasing Hannibal is almost always worth it. He earns a bite over the rise of his right buttock. He yelps, immediately shoving a fist in his mouth to keep quiet. </p><p>“Hannibal,” Will warns, when the mouth vanishes. He makes to turn around, but his head is roughly pushed into his pillow and he whimpers, “Okay, okay.” </p><p>He feels broad hands stroking the mounds of his ass and he sighs when they knead and squeeze, drawing his cheeks apart.</p><p>Out of nowhere, Hannibal noses his way into the crease of Will’s ass and he flushes red, shaking his head in a silent protest before he can manage forming the words. </p><p>“No, no, Hannibal, that’s not, you–” Hannibal licks a stripe from his balls to his hole and he convulses, cut off with a moan. “Christ, Hannibal.” </p><p>He would feel more self-conscious if he hadn’t taken a shower, but as it stands, he feels entirely humiliated and immensely turned on to the point he fears his dick might fall off from the strain. </p><p>Hannibal dives in fully, swiping his tongue deliberately against his hole now. It is wet and warm, and flat. Just enough to drive Will crazy, not enough to edge him, not until he makes a point with it and drags it roughly around the rim. Will moans, and bites the pillow under him to keep silent. </p><p>He has eaten women out before, and begins to see the appeal now. He feels like a dish specifically laid out for Hannibal. Without the unfortunate requirement of needing to be dead first. </p><p>Hannibal sloppily mouths against his twitching hole, holding him firmly by the cheeks of his ass, keeping him drawn open for as long as he desires. Will whines, and can’t help but rock back into his face, uncontrollably. It’s obscene, and not something Will had ever thought he’d be comfortable doing, but Hannibal yearns to push him past his limit, in all things, he supposes. </p><p>His tongue pushes inside of him and his nails scratch the sheets. </p><p>“Oh my god,” he groans, words muffled by the pillow. </p><p>When he feels teeth gently scrape against his rim, and the stubble on Hannibal’s jaw scratch against his sensitive raw skin, his cock oozes pre-come. It throbs incessantly, growing painful. </p><p>“H–Hannibal, I, I need–” He writhes when Hannibal sucks, a wet noise accompanying the motion. “I need to come,” he finishes in a gentle fuss. </p><p>He is positive Hannibal doesn’t hear him, because he continues fucking him with his tongue, licking and stroking his hole until he’s quivering and mewling, on the verge of a breakdown. His knees slide out further, and he rocks back harshly, reaching back to grab at Hannibal’s hair and keep him there. “Fuck, yeah, more, God,” he rambles. </p><p>Just when he thinks he’s about to fall apart, Hannibal reaches a hand around and grips his cock at the base, hard. It staves off the orgasm pooling between his legs and he holds back a scream.</p><p>“You bastard,” Will breathlessly blurts out, wiggling his hips as Hannibal leans back. The breath against the slick skin between his thighs has him shivering, and he puts his last shreds of energy into remaining still and pliant. </p><p>“You will come from this alone, my love,” Hannibal tells him, and releases his cock. It hangs heavy and hard between his legs.</p><p>Despite himself, Will keens at the words. </p><p>“I don’t know if I can,” he mutters, high-pitched and worn. </p><p>Hannibal appears content to do this until the end of their flight, licking lightly at his hole once again, diving back in with unbridled enthusiasm. Will moans into his pillow helplessly, and thrusts his hips back. If he’s going to do this, he’s going to make the most of it. </p><p>“Harder,” he grinds out, “Harder, more, <em> please </em>Hannibal.” </p><p>Hannibal’s tongue drags brutally against his rim, pressing in and out of him in intervals between his sucking and bruising. The place between the crease of his ass is going to be red and tender for hours after this. The thought sends a jolt of arousal through his cock, and he starts to throb again. </p><p>After a few minutes of relentless tonguing, a hand soars down violently against his skin, slapping the meat of his ass in a callous smack. He bucks forwards with a broken shout. A curse falls from his lips as Hannibal proceeds to dig his nails into the new sore spot. </p><p>He’ll check spanking off on a list of kinks he never knew he had, and never actually wanted to know he had. </p><p>It nearly pushes him over the edge. If a feather touched his cock right now, he’d be coming so hard he’d see colors behind his eyelids. Just a small push, anything and he’s gone. </p><p>Like clockwork, Hannibal groans against him like he’s the most delightful thing he’s ever tasted, and the hum reverberates through his body, the arousal swelling to an overflow. </p><p>Every muscle in his body clamps up, and he collapses as he comes, grinding his cock barbarically against the sheets of the bed as ropes of semen shoot out of him. The waves of pleasure don’t even stop there; the heat in his cock continues to pulsate as Hannibal’s tongue remains lapping against him, gentler now, but still with intention. </p><p>After about thirty seconds, the pleasure ebbs away and he sinks into the mattress. “Oh Jesus,” Will’s voice is accentuated with the bit of South he’d lost after his move to Virginia. Hannibal’s tongue stops its assault and he kisses up Will’s tailbone before collapsing next to him, breathing heavy.</p><p>Will snakes an arm between them to reach for Hannibal’s cock only to find a wetness in his boxers. His eyes widen and Hannibal grins like a sated beast. </p><p>He grabs Hannibal’s face and kisses him roughly, tasting his own musk there. It doesn’t matter as he inches closer and bites, and claws at him with animalistic gratitude. He barely thinks of his wound, barely thinks of Chilton. All he knows is their two bodies colliding together in a bed on a private jet plane where the pilot most definitely knows by now they were fucking in. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Hannibal comes home with five shopping bags a week later, all filled with treats and toys to spoil their dog. It is safe to say he has become recklessly fond of their pet. </p><p>With this knowledge, Will convinces Hannibal on the same night to allow Aphrodite the one instance she can sleep in their bed. He brings her there himself, unwilling to let this chance slip by him another time. She sleeps between them, glutted with her spoils of the night, stuffed with treats. </p><p>They are turned towards each other.</p><p>Hannibal watches him with a gaze not unlike the first time he had met Will. At the time, Will had not known how deeply he’d been infatuated with him. Now, the stare is emphasized with a knowing love which has aged like one of Hannibal’s fine, fancy wines.</p><p>“What’s next?”</p><p>“Hmm?” Hannibal hums noncommittally. </p><p>“Where do you want to take me after our stay here comes to an end?” Will clarifies, wide-eyed with the assumption of various possibilities. </p><p>“Scandinavia comes to mind,” Hannibal whispers, as to not wake the dog. “Though, if I had my way, I’d take you back to Florence.”</p><p>“My memories of Florence are not pleasant,” Will mutters.</p><p>“Precisely my reasoning.”</p><p>“I’d like to go to Scandinavia.”</p><p>“Denmark, perhaps,” Hannibal suggests. “I speak the language, and the charms of the country mostly lie outside of the more populated areas. We’d be very safe for a long time.”</p><p>“And you also have a safe house there,” Will assumes. </p><p>“Yes.” </p><p>“Will Aphro–” he cuts himself off, realizing Aphrodite will rise from the dead of sleep like a zombie if she hears her name. “Will our spoiled brat be happy there?” </p><p>“There will be many fields to roam. Almost certainly,” Hannibal assures. </p><p>Will reaches his hand across their dog to intertwine his fingers with Hannibal’s. The feeling of love overwhelms him, but for the first time, he does not mind the feeling. There is not a nagging within telling him to run away, and he doesn’t fear the loss of it. He’ll let Hannibal know with a squeeze of the hand, with a small gasp as Hannibal leans closer and kisses him goodnight. </p><p>Hannibal will know when Will will continue to ask about their future, their plans. He will show no resistance towards their path forward, because he no longer feels its friction. The impelling tendrils of his past no longer prod and pull. </p><p>In his dreams, he rests.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>sorry this took longer than usual! also the next chapter might not be as long as usual, but i hope you guys have enjoyed this fic, the next one will sorta be an epilogue/prologue it's gonna be a weird frankenstein chapter. thanks always for reading, xoxo</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>The Boat</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Will wakes from the burn in his cheek. </p><p>His eyes flutter open first, before he registers anything. In the back of his mind, he can acknowledge that Hannibal is stitching the gnash in his cheek shut. They had not drowned. </p><p><em> No </em> , he thinks first. <em> No! </em></p><p>The residual effects of fight or flight kick in, and Hannibal appears to notice the flare of riotous panic in his eyes, because he’s already trying to hold him down. He mutters something about staying still, about the stitches, but Will thrashes and shouts like he’s being wrangled into an electric chair. He can still feel the sting of the water dragging him under. There is a vague memory breaking the surface of the sea, swimming up and up before the lights went out.</p><p>“No, no!” he cries out, trying to jerk out of Hannibal’s grip. The stitches pop open as he screams, and he can taste blood. “<em> G’off! </em>” </p><p>He manages to strike Hannibal in the face, and the older man finally lets go. </p><p>There is no desire to hit him, it happens instinctively. As automatic as breathing. </p><p>Tears well up in Will’s eyes from the adrenaline and he tries to hit him again; Hannibal grabs his wrists with bruising strength so all he can do is strain and attempt to tug away. He has Will cornered against the bed and the panic turns volatile, suffocating. Will can taste salt along with the iron in his blood. He squeezes his eyes shut, perhaps hoping that if he opens them, he’ll be in the afterlife. “Why, why did you–” a broken sob falls from his lips, and he trembles violently, still trying to get away. His voice cracks, “I wanted us to <em> die </em>. We were supposed to die!” </p><p>He’s not sure he gets the words out clearly. He’s shaking and his mouth is dry causing his voice to come out more as a sharp wail than anything coherent. </p><p>“I know,” Hannibal whispers, gentle like sea foam. </p><p>Hearing his voice paralyzes him and he stops jerking away only to collapse face first into Hannibal’s shoulder, agonized sobs dampening his shirt. The adrenaline turns to harrowing sorrow. If Hannibal feels any pain, he doesn’t show it, finally letting go of his wrists to wrap him up in a firm embrace. </p><p>Fists still balled up, Will weakly pushes at his chest, hitting him lightly in his anguish. He wants to say so many things. That he wants to be at the bottom of the sea, that he’s glad Hannibal is alive, that he hates himself more than he’s ever hated anything. That the relief of this moment hurts worse than being gutted. </p><p>“I know,” Hannibal whispers again, and it is the first time he has heard genuine sympathy in his voice. “I know, Will.” </p><p>Will’s fists fall loose, and he wraps his arms around Hannibal as if he were a life raft, still making fractured noises into his skin, shaking fiercely in his grasp even as Hannibal tries to soothe him.</p><p>Rebirth is painful; he is lucky Hannibal is here to share it with him. </p><p>The physical pain is what becomes clear to him as soon as he calms down. His arm burns worse than the dozens of cuts and bruises. He groans as he’s laid back down, and Hannibal whispers, “I’m sorry, Will. Your shoulder is dislocated, I have to–”</p><p>“Do it,” Will grinds out, turning his teary gaze toward the walls of the cabin. </p><p>Hannibal hesitates, before gripping his sore arm with a Doctor’s practice, and harshly relocates his bone with its socket. Will grunts like a bear trap had clamped over his entire body, and a stray tear rolls down his cheek from the pain; it stings his bloody wound. </p><p>“May I redo your stitches?” he asks in a quiet voice.</p><p>Will nods, and lets him tend to his shattered body. He feels numb as Hannibal goes about his tasks, continuing to stare blankly at the wall adjacent to him until he falls back to sleep. </p><p>When he wakes for a second time, he feels much more level-headed and his mind doesn’t linger on the sensation of the midnight tide wracking every bone and muscle in his body. His initial adrenaline has vanished. </p><p>He turns to find Hannibal lying beside him, asleep. He is on his back to avoid putting weight on his own wounds, and Will wants to touch, see if he’s real, actually alive. </p><p>Hannibal’s face, sleeping and gentle startles him. When Will sees it, it is like balm on a thousand of his cuts, and he can almost clearly see the final shape of his becoming, <em> their </em>becoming. Beautiful with endless potential. </p><p>Hannibal nurses him back to health for the next month, until he is able to take his own medication and redo his own bandages. He tries to be cordial in his help with Hannibal’s wounds, but Hannibal allows Chiyoh to tend to him only. </p><p>“We are going back to shore soon for supplies,” Hannibal tells him one night, helping Will shave his beard down to his normal rugged stubble. “Do you have a plan?” </p><p>Hannibal is well aware Will has said barely a word to him all these days, and he hadn’t been planning on speaking up anytime soon. His words had died with him the day he’d woken up screaming, still half in the Atlantic. </p><p>Will’s eyes hold questions as he looks to Hannibal for answers.</p><p>“Where will you go?” he elucidates.</p><p>Will’s lips part, and he remains lost for words. Hannibal must know that this is his path now. There is no escape even if he wanted it, even if Hannibal no longer wants <em> him </em>. This is all he has. </p><p>“I won’t,” he responds with finality, voice raspy from disuse. </p><p>Hannibal towels off the residual shaving cream from his face, and ducks his head to avoid eye contact. “In that case, I will make the necessary arrangements,” he says quietly. </p><p>With that, they head south to Argentina without further discussion. </p><p>The issue is Will wants there to be more than a few words passed between them before they reach their final destination. Will would have thought that after three years, they’d have much to talk about. Perhaps this is a purgatory in another sense, doomed to be with the only kindred spirit that understands you only to be quiet and unsure of what to say. This fits perfectly well for the life Will is used to.</p><p>One night, closing in on their second month at sea, Will wakes up and remembers the missing time between their fall and his waking. It comes to him like the aftereffects of a nightmare. </p><p>Will had dragged them to shore himself, had pumped Hannibal’s chest violently, breathed air into him in intervals. It had been nothing more than carnal instinct, so much so that when he’d blacked out, he’d woken up without a single memory of the event. Hannibal has known all this time, had known when Will woke up thrashing and screaming and condemning him for saving them. </p><p>Hannibal might be asleep beside him now. He remains still and facing opposite him, towards the wall. All Will can feel is the pain of his wounds, and stinging tears in his eyes that have been gathering but not falling for days. </p><p>Will declares in a bout of hysteria, “Until I can no longer breathe, I will stay by your side.” </p><p>There is a single beat before Hannibal turns to face him. His brows are drawn high, as if he can’t quite believe Will just broke the weeks-long silence. Will wants to say it again, in a different language, in a different voice, or perhaps telepathically communicate it somehow. </p><p>For the first time since Will had woken up, Hannibal smiles. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Bredsten, Denmark. <em>Three Years Later. </em></strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Will’s whistle travels far through the golden pastures beyond their cottage. The sound of trotting dogs slowly grows boisterous as their full grown chocolate lab and black greyhound emerge from the wheat fields. Medeina, their newest, had been named after the Lithuanian goddess, a protector of forests. Hannibal thought it fitting since they are surrounded by nature for miles. </p><p>Bredsten is a quaint village, not good for much more than farming and going to church. Will doesn’t do either of those things, but he does value the vastness of the space, and the peace of the environment and the people. It has been a long time since he has felt anything resembling peace and stability. </p><p>It is easier for him to learn Danish, as Hannibal is more fluent, and they have stayed here longer than they’d stayed in Argentina. They have that luxury, to spend time learning, since murder hasn’t been close to their minds for a while. It creeps up like the flu, in the back of his thoughts, and he knows soon he will be unable to control the beast within. </p><p>Medeina tackles Will to the ground, damp from yesterday’s rainfall, and he laughs as he tries to dislodge himself from under her heavy body. Aphrodite waits beside them, not looking very amused at all, a trait she picked up from Hannibal. </p><p>“C’mon ladies, dinnertime.” </p><p>“This is black licorice I made from scratch,” Hannibal tells him after dinner. He holds out a black square, close to Will’s lips. The treat glistens wet in the firelight. The taste explodes on his tongue, and he makes sure to lick the tips of Hannibal’s fingers before he can draw away. </p><p>“Dark and mysterious,” he mutters sarcastically. “Just my type.”</p><p>“I am glad you approve,” Hannibal says in a low voice, giving him that look that Will has come to know well. “There is more, if you’d like another.” </p><p>Will casts a sideways glance at the tray on the coffee table, then back to the fireplace where the flames burn hot and bright. It warms his skin, but he’s feeling warm for other reasons. </p><p>“The dogs are asleep,” Will notes, inching forward on his knees. “I could think of a few different things I’d like to taste.” Hannibal’s gaze flicks over him with interest, and Will clarifies, “Not licorice.” </p><p>These are the moments Will eulogizes the size of their cottage, infinitely smaller than their three story house in Argentina. It takes no amount of time to get to the bedroom, where Hannibal shoves him up against the wall and descends down to undo the front of his trousers and suck his cock into his mouth. </p><p>“God,” Will groans and his head slams back against the wooden boards lining their bedroom. It is built like a pioneer’s cabin, almost. He could easily picture Hannibal building it himself even though he knows he didn’t. The thought still satisfies him in a way he can’t describe. Hannibal sucks harshly on the head of his dick before sliding all the way down, nose pressing into the hair at the base. Will rushes out, “Use me, tie me up tonight.” </p><p>His cock slips out of Hannibal’s mouth when he looks up at Will under a veil of momentary shock. “Don’t stop even if I beg you to,” he pleads, genuflecting downward to tear Hannibal’s shirt off his body. “Fuck me until I can’t breathe, until I can’t speak.” </p><p>He is more worked up than average tonight. The lack of the hunt is starting to weigh on him in more ways than one. He wants more of a thrill, wants to be hurt and hurt back. Wants Hannibal to do it to him, with him. </p><p>Hannibal’s hands are still gentle, yet his eyes are dark and crimson. </p><p>Will shoves him hard to the ground to provoke him and straddles his hips, arching down to bite cruelly at his jugular. Hannibal surges up in response, flipping him onto his back so roughly that air is punched out of his lungs. </p><p>Hannibal rips his shirt open and buttons go flying, clattering still as he lurches down to bite his sharp teeth into one of Will’s nipples. Will shouts, the agony surging through him followed by a swift wave of arousal. His cock hardens in his pants, and his moan is close to pained as Hannibal’s knee drives up to grind into the restricted bulge. </p><p>“Hit me,” Will breaths out, gripping furiously at Hannibal’s hair, dragging nails against his scalp. “Fuck me up, <em> please </em>, fucking hurt me. Make me feel it for weeks.” </p><p>It is almost comical how Hannibal stalls. This isn’t the first time they’ve done this, or even the second time. Will’s not even sure he could put a number on how many times they’ve done this, but Hannibal gets that unsure, concerned look every time Will suggests this. Like he doesn’t want to hurt him, as if he had never hurt him before in their lives. In another time, in another place, Will would ridicule his hypocrisy, but as it stands, he finds grinding his cock into Hannibal’s thigh is much more gratifying. </p><p>Hannibal’s expression hardens not long after, and he rips the belt from the loops around Will’s waist, and it snaps against the air, cracking with the force. Will shudders and whines when a hand collides with his jaw <em> hard </em>. He tumbles, barely able to grip the pegs of the bed frame before Hannibal uses his currently complacent body to roughly haul him up against the end of the bed. </p><p>He rips Will’s jeans off his legs and bites roughly into one of his ass cheeks. He bucks, hard cock rubbing over the textured material of their bed sheets. Nails dig into his skin as Hannibal sucks, blood from the wound, bruising his body in the process. The sharp pain of it runs hot in his veins. </p><p>There is a familiar sound of a bottle of lube uncapping, and two wet fingers are pressed against his entrance, slipping in with near practiced ease. They do this enough that it is not overly painful, but just enough to burn. “<em> Yes, </em>” Will breathes out. He thrusts his hips back against Hannibal’s hand grunting with effort as he tries to get them deeper, faster. He wants to be filled up, he doesn’t want to think about it. </p><p>Hannibal strokes roughly up his back, scratching manicured nails down his spine and he arches with the movement, groaning loud when Hannibal reaches his ass and lands a harsh smack on the cheek he had bitten into. There are three fingers in him now.</p><p>His cock bobs against the sheets, harder still. </p><p>It is the first time he sees Hannibal’s impatience for what it is. He makes a wild noise when he enters Will, curling a strong hand in Will’s hair and gripping the other at his shoulder for purchase. These are the only indicators he’s going to start ramming into him unforgivably and Will fists the sheets in preparation. </p><p>The first thrust makes him choke, and he’s jerked forward against the bed so roughly his dick chafes. Despite the slight burn that comes from both ends, he frantically rolls his hips back against Hannibal’s cock, trying to feel his hips flush against his body. It always sends him hurdling over the edge, to remember Hannibal is merging with him in this way, driving himself deeper inside Will than he’d ever done in the early years of their relationship.</p><p>Hannibal tugs on his hair and Will cranes his neck back, hissing in pain as he continues to fuck into him like he’s a rag doll. He’s driving himself to completion, not letting Will touch himself, not even letting him have a moment’s rest to speak and beg for it. </p><p>His hand slips from Will’s hair and he grabs at his hips as his own stutter and slow, and he comes with a short groan, and even though Will can’t see his face, he knows his teeth are bared. </p><p>Hands slide gently over his scratch-sore back until Hannibal pulls out of him and circles around the bed to flip him over. Will blinks his eyes dry, watching him in a daze as Hannibal breaks out the ropes kept under the bed. He tugs Will’s arm up close to the right side of the headboard, securing it there with the rope. He repeats this on the other side, the bed so large so his arms are stretched out uncomfortably, and he has no ability to move them. </p><p>“Satisfied?” Will asks when he spends too long eyeing his work. Hannibal hums and nods, sliding a hand damp with sweat and lube down Will’s sternum. He arches up into the touch, cock hard and body vibrating with the need for release. He loves when Hannibal comes inside of him, with no regard toward his erection. When he can make him suffer after using him like an object. </p><p>It isn’t always like this. More often than not, their sex is sweet and gentle. Will has the best orgasms when Hannibal spends hours inside of him, languidly thrusting and kissing him breathless. The thought of taking a bath together afterwards, kissing and worshiping the fresh welts on their skin, is always enough to get him off. </p><p>However, there should never be only one way to do things you love. Will had never been exploratory with anyone in his sex life. With Hannibal, he’d barely needed to lay out any ground rules. Hannibal knows what he wants and how to give it to him, and Will knows he would stop if he said the right words. </p><p>Will is in no position to ask him to stop now. </p><p>Not when Hannibal is sliding down his body, biting his skin lightly, not enough to break, but the edge is there. Will knows he could, that he might if he feels up to it. </p><p>Hannibal grips and lifts Will’s thighs to place them over his shoulders, giving Will the ability to cage him into this position if he so pleases. It helps quell the urge to tug and pull at his hair. The ropes burn beautifully against his wrists at the thought.</p><p>He mouths against Will’s cock, drawing the points of his teeth ever so gently over the shaft until Will is shaking with nerves. When he sucks his cock into his mouth and allows Will to thrust into the wet heat of his throat, the words, “<em> Oh hell, </em>” fall from his lips. </p><p>His thighs squeeze powerfully, crushing Hannibal closer to his body as he bobs and sucks. It doesn’t take him long to get back to the edge and Hannibal knows this. He loosens up and decides to swipe his tongue up the shaft instead of wringing his orgasm out of him. Will wriggles and moans unhappily, canting his hips up as if he might slip back into his mouth. Hannibal chuckles silently, reaching a hand under his leg to flick once at his balls. Will yelps and his thighs fall open, legs sliding off of Hannibal’s shoulders. Somehow this only turns him on more and his dick twitches pathetically, leaking precum onto his stomach. </p><p>“I knew you had a propensity for the bittersweet prospects of torture in its many forms, but not to this extent, my love,” Hannibal mumbles, back to teething at his cock. It sends dangerous sparks up Will’s spine, like firecrackers setting off in his body and he squirms and tugs at his binds. </p><p>“You should have known after I got released from prison and decided not killing you would be more fun,” Will mutters, voice hitching when Hannibal sucks him back into his mouth. He presses his thighs into the bed, and this stretches him open further. It makes him crazy, feeling Hannibal’s semen drip out of his body, feeling his legs restrained by Hannibal’s hands.</p><p>“Hannibal, I’m–” Will throws his head back, interrupting himself with a surprised moan as he releases into Hannibal’s mouth. Hannibal sucks it all down, taking Will’s sudden thrusts quite well, throat only clenching once as he jerks up with a firm grunt. </p><p>His wrists are on fire where he pulls and writhes against the rope. </p><p>Hannibal squeezes his ass once before allowing Will’s spent cock to slip from his mouth. His hunger is satisfied, even as he bites and kisses along his chest to reach his face. Will kisses him with gratitude and tugs hard at his binds to signal he wants out. </p><p>“Does it hurt?”</p><p>“Perfectly,” Will acquiesces. </p><p>Hannibal hums again, undoing the ties with expertise. Will runs his hands through Hannibal’s hair once he’s free, pulling him down into a kiss where he can grope and feel now. </p><p>“When are you going to let me tie you up?” Will asks, playfully quiet.</p><p>Hannibal doesn’t <em> not </em>roll his eyes, but moves to put the ropes away to avoid the question. Will continues, knowing full well how much he hates squabbles dragging and droning on. </p><p>“You’re afraid of my sadistic side. You won’t be able to control what I do to you.” Hannibal raises a brow as if to argue and Will spats, “Control freak.” </p><p>“Harlot,” he replies with a glare. </p><p>Will’s jaw drops open and Hannibal can tell he’s made a mistake when Will gets up and helps Hannibal back into his pants and whispers, “I’m going to get you back for that remark.” </p><p>“I hope you do,” Hannibal replies fondly before leaving the room to get the dogs their dinner. If they wake up to empty bowls, they’ll never hear the end of it. </p><p>The next day, they take a ride into town to get some supplies that aren’t available in their garden at home. </p><p>Will knows the people who frequent the town by name now. There are so few of them. He and Hannibal had gone to church once to introduce themselves to the local residents. It is such a tightly knit community that he’s sure if Jack strolled in with the entire Baltimore police force and showed them evidence that the Chesapeake ripper and his partner in crime were living amongst them, the townsfolk would merely shake their heads in denial and speak highly of their reputation. </p><p>“Godmorgen, Lars,” Hannibal greets the pub owner brightly when they enter his place of business. There are only a handful of people inside and they wave to the two of them from the bar. </p><p>“Hej!” Will exclaims, waving somewhat awkwardly. </p><p>Hannibal has been getting his wines imported through their friend Lars. Lars is able to import them on the down-low. They had not asked him to as that would have raised suspicion; the way he gets his wine is merely beneficial to Hannibal because Alana cannot track them this way. They’d struck up a deal with Lars easily once he’d told them about his weekly shipments. </p><p>Lars hands him a crate and takes Hannibal’s cash with a smile and a polite wave. Not many people to kill in this country considering the Danes are most likely the nicest individuals Will has ever had the fortune of meeting. There is a reason it is known as the happiest country on the planet. </p><p>Will sticks his head out the window on the drive home to feel the wind on his face. He vividly imagines what it would feel like if the sky started raining blood. </p><p>The dogs greet them with yips and panting when they return home and Hannibal gets them both to sit down and patiently wait for treats. He’s better at training them than Will is ready to admit. Medeina more so has taken after Hannibal especially when he is around. She trots with her snout held high, and her favorite location in the house is the kitchen in the alcove of the dining room.</p><p> After dinner, they paint together. Will has found it to be a swell hobby, mostly since there are no lakes nearby to fish. That sacrifice had been a tough adjustment, but as long as he is with Hannibal, he’s certain he could sacrifice just about anything. Plus, painting is fun especially when Will sticks to his abstract lane, not trying in the slightest to up the ante and go for Hannibal-style realism. </p><p>“You rival even Jackson Pollock, darling,” Hannibal tells him. </p><p>“You call me darling when you’re trying to be nice,” Will mutters. “Stop it.” The painting is just a blob of red, purple, and black mixed together. It looks kind of like a black hole or a wound. Perhaps he could have been a professional inkblot painter if he hadn’t gone to the police academy. </p><p>“If you enjoy it, it is art,” Hannibal responds simply. </p><p>Will is positive there are thousands of people who would dispute that claim, but he doesn’t want to argue with Hannibal on the politics of art and expression. At least not tonight. </p><p>They start kissing in the living room when Hannibal looks over his shoulder to examine his work more thoroughly. Will can’t resist the breath on his neck, his scent. Even after years, he is still similar to an addict when it comes to Hannibal. Never able to get a proper fix. </p><p>“Hannibal,” he whispers reverently, not knowing when they had lowered themselves onto the couch. “Hannibal, I wanted to ask you something tonight.” </p><p>Hannibal’s expression brightens with interest. He pulls away and curls a strand of Will’s hair around his finger while he waits for Will to speak. </p><p>“I’ve been growing a bit restless.”</p><p>“So I’ve noticed,” Hannibal says with a glint of humor in his eyes. “Not that I mind, of course. The result most usually works in my favor.” He kisses his knuckles and Will blushes. </p><p>“I think you’ll agree with me when I say we’ve given her enough time,” Will starts slowly, trying to gage Hannibal’s face for a reaction. Hannibal seems a bit confused, but intrigued nonetheless. </p><p>“I believe it’s time we paid our Alana a visit. Don’t you?” </p><p>Hannibal’s grin is treacherous, and Will kisses him with intention. It had taken Will a while to accept that Hannibal’s promises had become his promises. Their lives intertwined and continue to intertwine. For the rest of his life, he will live and breathe this reality. </p><p>Until death do they part. </p><p>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i hope you all think this a good wrap up for this fic! i had an immensely fun time writing this, but i think my hannibal juice has definitely worn thin for now. i'll be rewatching soon enough and it will probably be revitalized then, so if you want more from me maybe you can expect stuff in a few months. for now, i bid you all adieu, and thank you for reading my fic. i really appreciate it xoxo</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I've never been to Argentina, but I hope if people have been to Cascadas de Tamasopo, my fic lives up to it. I know I said my Hannibal juice had been drained, but honestly in the span of two minutes, it was revived again. Get ready for a ten chapter bonanza, babies. xoxo. I'll try to update regularly, maybe every two or three days.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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